


If It’s With You

by xceru



Series: If It's With You [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Steve Rogers, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bullying, But it’s true, Canon Compliant, Chronic Illness, Either way he will be very closeted until he’s much older, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, I think Bucky will be Ambiguously Queer but he also might be gay, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Steve Rogers, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Canon, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sarah Rogers might be in the mob, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Steve is closer to understanding his feelings, When Bucky and Steve age up this is going to be Extremely Queer, the 1932 fire at Luna Park may have been started by an MCU villain, the romance is the plot, this is not brought up once
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25437184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xceru/pseuds/xceru
Summary: In which Steve and Bucky live a life, and the Avengers are only a part of it.From the time they meet in August, 1930, until the time that they die, Bucky Barnes is in love with Steve Rogers. When Bucky joins the army during World War II, it threatens to tear them apart—but a surprising turn of events leads both men to London, to each other, and beyond.Following MCU canon from before Captain America: The First Avenger until after Avengers: Endgame, this fic follows two men who love each other for nearly a hundred years, and it still doesn’t feel like enough.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Sarah Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Sarah Rogers & Steve Rogers
Series: If It's With You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1964251
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29





	1. By Chance (You & I)

**Author's Note:**

> Posting schedule will be sporadic (approx. once a month) but I won’t abandon this fic. If I decide to leave it unfinished, I’ll post an outline for everything I didn’t write.
> 
> Chapters will be episodic until the start of TFA.
> 
> Title is from It’s Not Living (If It’s Not With You) by the 1975.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Buchanan Barnes meets Steven Grant Rogers.
> 
> Bucky POV  
> August 1930  
> Bucky is 13, Steve is 12
> 
> Chapter title is from the song by J.R.A.

Bucky Barnes can’t remember his life without Steve Rogers.

He knows that he had one. He knows that his childhood was easier than other people’s, that Bucky’s folks had jobs, that he had friends at school. Bucky even got good grades when he wasn’t too busy making jokes at his teacher’s expense. When Bucky was young, he didn’t feel like anything was missing.

Yes, Bucky Barnes had a life before Steve Rogers. It just wasn’t nearly as good.

Memories from childhood are scarce. Bucky remembers his father grumbling about the lack of beer, his mother’s laugh, pieces of the games he played with siblings. The world was still foreign to him then, a squatter’s den, merely a place to put his things. It wasn’t until Bucky met Steve that he finally understood: You don’t just live life because you have to, you live life because life is worth living. And for James Buchanan Barnes, life was worth living for Steve.

Decades later, when Bucky thinks back on his life, he starts with 1930. He lives with his great-aunt in Sunset Park that summer, helps her buy groceries and fixes her appliances when they break. Bucky’s father says that he needs to learn a lesson before he comes home for the school year, but Bucky doesn’t know what it is.

It’s hard for Bucky to stay inside for too long. Even if his great-aunt’s apartment wasn’t cramped and hot, it still would’ve been a reminder that Bucky’s parents—his home—wasn’t available to him. Sure, he sees his ma on Tuesdays, and he sometimes takes his sisters to the park, but it’s August, and he hasn’t seen his father since June.

Most of the time, Bucky wanders through the streets of New York. He walks south from Sunset Park to Bay Ridge, north to Park Slope. At least twice a week, he goes to Red Hook—to Tin City, the Hooverville—to bring scraps he’d charmed restaurant owners out of or just to say hi to his friends. When he feels particularly restless, Bucky hops on the subway and goes across the bridge to Manhattan.

Bucky likes Manhattan. It’s busier than Brooklyn, easier to blend into the crowd. On some days he walks across the Bowery; on others he goes to the west side. On the rare occasion that he finds himself looking at New Jersey, he always makes his way to Hell’s Kitchen.

Hell’s Kitchen is supposed to be dangerous. Bucky’s heard tales of the gangs there: Fedora-wearing, gun-toting mobsters who’d pistol-whip a woman for her wallet and slug a cop in the kisser just to say they’d done so. Although he’d never say anything to anyone, this is the action Bucky’s looking for when he goes to Manhattan. More than anything, Bucky wants to see a fight.

In Hell’s Kitchen, Bucky has a routine. He walks along Eighth or Ninth Avenue, stops at each corner, and peeks around it to see down the cross-street. If there are people walking around, they usually don’t pay attention to each other. Sometimes he sees an argument, but it never escalates into violence.

On the sixth of August, Bucky Barnes finally gets his wish.

He doesn’t mean to see it, really. Bucky’s walking down the street to get to the subway, kicking rocks and weighing the pros and cons of eating out that night. He doesn’t want to spend the money, and he definitely doesn’t want to steal it (at least not from anyone who isn’t pissing him off). With a sigh, Bucky decides that the right thing to do is go home.

But Bucky can’t help who he is. When he walks by 43rd Street, he pokes his head around the corner, just to see if anyone’s there.

It isn’t the fight he’d imagined.

The sight shouldn’t be a surprise. Four kids fight three-on-one, the bigger ones pummeling a blond-haired kid who doesn’t look older than ten. Bucky sees these types of fights every day, and he only intervenes when he thinks that he can win them.

This time is different. Bucky watches as the biggest of the three pushes the blond to the ground, and Bucky swears the kid skips like a stone, ass hitting pavement before jumping up and falling down again. He looks down for the count, and Bucky expects the bigger kids to rough him up a bit more, grab his wallet, and leave.

But that doesn’t happen. Bucky’s jaw drops as the tiny blond stands up, shakes his hair out of his eyes, puts out his fists, and says, “Try again.”

The biggest kid charges. Before Bucky knows what he’s doing, he runs into the street. As the big guy pulls back his fist to hit the blond, Bucky jumps on his back and grabs his hair.

The big guy yells. Over the top of his head, Bucky sees the blond give him a quizzical look, as if to say _I had him_. Bucky thinks that he’s imagining it—no way a kid that scrawny is that confident.

The big guy’s friends advance on the blond as Bucky pulls on his hair like a puppet, leading him into a wall and slamming his head against it. As the big guy falls, Bucky jumps down and turns toward the other two.

The blond has his fists up again, making one-two punches in the air near his opponents. They seem hesitant—perhaps because the blond is so small, or cause Bucky just bodied their friend—but they lurch forward anyway.

Bucky yells, spooking them enough that they jump and turn around. While they’re distracted, the blond punches one of them in the face and Bucky slams the other into the first. Both kids are holding their heads now, squinting and groaning, and all it takes is one more growl from Bucky for them to grab the big guy and run away.

When they’re gone, Bucky turns to the blond with a shit-eating grin. “You’re welcome,” he says.

“I had them,” says the blond. He dusts off his shirt, avoiding Bucky’s eye.

“Sure you did,” Bucky says. He puts his hand out. “Bucky Barnes. The fella who just saved your life.”

The blond furrows his brow. “Steve Rogers. And you didn’t save my life. I was doing just fine on my own.”

“You say that,” Bucky says, “but I somehow don’t believe you.”

“That’s your call,” Steve replies. After a beat, he adds, “Thanks, though. For stepping in.”

“No problem, kid.”

“Kid?” Steve asks with a laugh. “How old do you think I am?”

“Ten?” Bucky asks.

“Just turned twelve,” Steve says with pride. “I told you I can handle myself.”

“If you’re twelve, then I’m Russian,” Bucky says. This kid—Steve Rogers—is only a year younger than him. His appearance, along with his alarming lack of survival instinct, made Bucky assume he was younger. But the longer they talk, the more Bucky feels like he’s talking to an adult. The contradiction is confusing.

Bucky steps back against the nearest building—the one he’d bashed that bully’s head into—and leans against it with one leg up. He thinks this is the epitome of cool. “I’m only thirteen, but I look a million years older than you.”

“You look good for a million,” says Steve.

Bucky laughs. “Why’d you pick a fight like that, anyway?” he asks. “And don’t say you didn’t pick it, cause I won’t believe you.”

The edge of Steve’s mouth quirks up, but he visibly suppresses the smile, choosing instead to narrow his eyes and look at Bucky. Steve’s eyes are very blue. “They were picking on a dame,” he says.

“A _dame_? Now who’s a million years old?” Bucky’s leg is starting to cramp from leaning against the building. He doesn’t move it.

“It’s a common word.”

“Yeah, for million-year-olds.”

“Not true,” Steve mutters. Bucky smirks. “Those guys were bein’ mean to her,” Steve continues, “callin’ her all sorts of vulgar names.” Steve’s cheeks turn pink. He looks away from Bucky, fiddles with the belt loops on his shorts. “Couldn’t have that, so I stopped them.”

“You drew their attention away from her,” Bucky realizes. “Huh. That’s pretty brave.”

Steve’s chest swells. “I was just doin’ the right thing.”

“Well how’s this, Mr. Hero,” Bucky says. He unsticks himself from the wall and puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder, then squeezes it. Steve stares at him from underneath his bangs, and something in Bucky’s stomach twists. He must be hungrier than he’d thought. “Let’s get you some food.”

Steve frowns. “I can provide—”

“—for yourself, yeah, got it. Think of it as a Good Samaritan award.”

Steve thinks about this, and Bucky sees the smile spread across his face. _It’s cute_ , Bucky thinks, and then he wonders why he thinks that. The thought dissipates when Steve says, “Sure.”

After the proper _thank-yous_ and _I’ll-repay-yous_ that Bucky figured would come, he leads Steve onto Eighth Avenue and walks toward 45th. Thanks to the time of year, it isn’t dark yet, but Bucky knows it will be soon.

Bucky realizes quickly that the mere act of walking takes all of the wind out of Steve. Bucky slows his pace to half of his usual speed, and while he thinks that Steve notices, neither boy says anything about it.

There’s a whole row of restaurants on Eighth Ave near 45th, expensive ones for people who can still afford to eat out. The trouble isn’t finding a place—it’s knowing which one to choose. Bucky leads Steve into a place called Billy Haas, an upscale restaurant between Eighth and Ninth on 45th. They have to head west a bit to get there—away from Brooklyn—but Bucky knows it’ll be worth it.

As soon as Bucky turns around and sees Steve’s expression, his suspicions are confirmed. Inside, Steve gazes at the ceiling, taking in the elaborate architecture, mouth completely agape. Bucky chuckles, not cruelly, just at the awe on the younger kid’s face.

“So you’re...” Steve trails off and looks at Bucky. “You’re, uh—”

“I’m not rich,” Bucky says. He’s never taken a friend here before, but it would’ve been his first thought if someone had taken him. “Lucky, maybe—luckier than most—but not rich enough for a place like this.”

“Then why...?” Steve asks, an eyebrow raised, mouth slightly open still.

The kid is clearly too polite to ask the questions that would’ve been at the front of Bucky’s mind. He adds it to the list of things he likes about Steve Rogers.

“You’ll see.” Bucky grins, and Steve automatically grins back.

People eye them as they wait for the hostess. Steve is clearly out of his element: He stands between Bucky and the door, shrinking himself as much as possible. It’s a far cry from the twerp who took on three huge kids at once, and Bucky’s confused by his reticence.

“You good?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says from behind him. The foyer isn’t that cramped—Steve is standing behind him on purpose. “Not used to digs like this, is all.”

“It’ll be fine,” Bucky says. “You’re with me.” He turns around to see the kid react, and he’s glad to see that Steve is smiling.

“Can I help you?” a voice asks, and Bucky turns to greet it.

“Ma!” he says. He steps forward to hug her, then remembers she’s at work and steps back. Coming for a bite or quick visit is one thing, but obvious displays of affection could get her fired. “Ma, this is Steve.”

Bucky steps aside so his mother can see the other boy. Steve gives a small smile and waves, but doesn’t say anything except, “Hi, ma’am.”

“We wanted a bite,” Bucky says to his ma. “That okay?”

His mother smiles thinly. “James...”

It’s enough to make Bucky fold in on himself, suddenly fill with regret. He never wants to make his ma upset, yet it feels like his greatest talent sometimes.

“Sorry I asked,” Bucky says a bit more sharply than he means to. “I’ll come back another time.”

“No, James, it’s okay,” his ma replies. Her smile is bigger now, but it has none of the warmth that he’s used to.

Bucky steps forward, closer to his ma. “What’s wrong?” he whispers, frowning, searching his mother’s eyes for whatever is causing this shift.

“It’s not a good day,” Bucky’s ma says. She darts her eyes around the room before she puts her hand on his shoulder, squeezes it, then pulls away. To Bucky’s surprise, she takes a step away from him. “Ask Georgie for food if you’re hungry, okay? I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

With another curt smile that Bucky thinks is forced, his ma turns around and walks away.

Bucky stares after her. Even when she’s been busy, she’s never dismissed him like that. Bucky wracks his brain to think of anything that he could’ve done to upset her, or more likely, to upset his father.

Nothing comes to mind. He’s hardly seen her lately. Maybe that’s why she’s upset—because Bucky hasn’t made the time. He makes a mental note to stop by his parents’ house sometime that week, when his dad is at work but she’s home.

“Everything okay?”

Bucky jumps and turns around. He’d forgotten Steve was there. Bucky hadn’t meant to get the kid involved in his drama—he’d just wanted to get him a meal.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Bucky says. He throws an arm around Steve’s shoulders and adds, “let’s get Georgie to fork over some food, huh?”

People aren’t supposed to know where the restaurant’s back door is, but it’s where Bucky’s ma goes in and out of work. So Bucky leads Steve out of the restaurant, around back, and pounds on the metal door.

It opens soon enough. “Be louder next time, eh?” Georgie says when he sees Bucky’s grinning face. “Scare away all the customers, will ya?”

“Like you have any customers,” Bucky says. Steve waves. “Can we come in?”

“Never have been able to say no to you, have I?” Georgie grumbles, and he lets Steve and Bucky inside.

The kitchen is crowded and small. People bang around the room, cooking or walking or yelling or doing all three. The food comes together in one homogeneous smell, but if he tries, Bucky can pick up the herbs by the sauce station, the fish on the cutting boards, the vodka someone’s drinking by the freezer.

He absolutely loves it here.

“What’ve you got for us today?” Bucky asks, walking behind Steve and squeezing his shoulders. Bucky is standing so close to the other boy, he swears one of the smells he picks up is Steve’s shampoo.

Georgie grunts, then calls out to the kitchen, “What’ve we got for King Barnes?”

“Mario messed up the soup,” someone says.

“It’ll go great with your overcooked vegetables,” Mario snaps.

“I got some bread heels—Italian, the good stuff.”

“Hey Bucky, you want mushy grapes?”

Before they leave, Bucky gives Georgie a big hug around the middle while Steve holds the food.

“Thanks, Georgie,” Bucky says, his cheek pressed to the man’s stomach.

“Not doin’ it for you,” Georgie grunts. “Just gettin’ your damn mother off my back.”

Bucky laughs. “Sure you are,” he says. At that, Georgie waves them off, and Bucky leads Steve back outside.

As the boys walk into the warm night, Bucky grabs some of the food that Steve’s holding. The younger boy protests—“Hey, I can carry it!”—but Bucky takes half the food anyway, and he doesn’t just imagine that Steve walks a bit faster once he’s done so.

Bucky wants to take them to the water, but it’s a twenty-minute walk from Ninth Ave and he doesn’t think that Steve can handle it—not that either of them would say so out loud. Instead, they head back towards Eighth, searching for a bench or a park. It’s getting dark now, and Bucky doesn’t want to be too far from the train.

When Bucky notices Steve’s breathing get louder, more urgent, he stops and says, “Here!” They’re somewhere near 44th and Seventh—dangerously close to Times Square—and Bucky doesn’t want to deal with crowds, so he gestures to a stoop and says, “This okay?”

Steve’s panting lessens as he frowns. “Isn’t this somebody’s doorstep?” he asks, looking at the building in front of them.

“Well, yeah,” Bucky says, “but it’s in our city, so it’s ours, right? We can sit anywhere we want.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” Steve is so serious, even by adult standards, that Bucky actually feels guilty about sitting on somebody’s stoop without their knowledge.

That goes away quickly. “We’ll be fine,” Bucky says. “If they ask us to move, we’ll move.”

Steve nods, satisfied, and nearly collapses onto the steps. Bucky sits next to him, leans against the railing, and they each place their food haul between them. There’s a comfortable silence at first, broken only by chewing and burps.

Steve says, “We should’ve asked for water,” and suddenly Bucky is laughing. This sets off Steve as well.

“You’re right,” Bucky replies. “I’m thirsty.”

Steve seems stronger after eating, so Bucky suggests a journey to a water fountain, at which Steve suggests Bryant Park. Bucky agrees, so they pick up their trash—Steve actually brushes food crumbs off the doorstep—and head toward 42nd and Sixth.

They walk up 44th Street, silent except for Steve’s panting, and turn onto Sixth Avenue. Instead of the park, all Bucky can see is construction: blocks and blocks of scaffolding, parts of the road all dug up. He doesn’t think they can cross to 42nd, let alone go into the park.

“What’s all this?” Bucky asks, turning to Steve.

Steve shrugs. “Don’t look at me,” he says. “I didn’t even know the park was closed.”

“Me neither,” Bucky says. He squints, trying to make out any people at the construction site, but he doesn’t see anyone there. Closed for the night, most likely. It’s almost fully dark now, and as much as Bucky wants—needs—to get Steve some water—( _why do I_ need _to get this kid some water?_ Bucky thinks)—he figures that they should head home.

Bucky tries to keep the disappointment out of his tone when he says this to Steve.

The kid nods. “Ma will want me home soon,” he says. Then Steve looks at Bucky. “What about your dad? He waiting up for you?”

Bucky laughs. The thought of his dad caring about his whereabouts is comical, like asking if the sky would turn green. “Nah,” he says. When he sees the concerned look on Steve’s face, he adds, “I’m livin’ with my aunt this summer. Pops didn’t want me around.” Bucky blushes, walks a few steps ahead of Steve, and hopes the other kid can’t see his face redden in the dark.

Steve is quiet. Bucky wonders if he said too much, if that was too personal to tell someone he’d just met. If this is the thing that will scare the boy away.

After ten seconds of silence, Bucky can’t take it anymore. “It’s not that he’s bad, or that I am, I think,” Bucky rambles. “We just don’t see eye to eye sometimes.” He glances at Steve, whose blue eyes search his face for something Bucky’s not sure is there. “Your dad ever get like that with you?”

“My dad’s dead,” Steve says.

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to be quiet.

“He served our country in the war,” Steve says carefully. He looks away and frowns, and Bucky wonders if he’s trying not to cry. Bucky takes a step closer, nods as if to say, _go on._

“I never met him,” Steve continues. “He died before I was born. He was a soldier, Ma's a nurse. Pretty classic, if you ask me.”

Bucky puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder again. He doesn’t understand why he wants to keep touching him, but he doesn’t question it, either. Bucky just keeps his hand on Steve, a silent comfort while he talks about his dad.

“Ma says he was the bravest man she ever knew,” Steve continues. “We have a few pictures of them. She thinks I look like him, but everyone else thinks that I look like her.” At this, Steve looks up at Bucky and puts his own hand on his shoulder, his pinky overlapping with Bucky’s.

It damn near takes Bucky’s breath away. Soon after Steve touches Bucky’s hand, he moves it again, grabbing onto Bucky’s elbow. It looks like the kid is on the subway, holding onto Bucky like a pole.

“You don’t look like either of your parents,” Bucky says.

Steve frowns. “You don’t know—”

“You look a million years old.”

Steve laughs, squeezes Bucky’s elbow and looks up at him. “I thought you were the one who looked a million?”

“We’re in this together,” Bucky says. “The million-year-olds club.”

“Sounds better than the clubs at school.”

“Tell me about it.” Bucky finally drops his hand from Steve’s shoulder, and Steve drops his hand from Bucky’s arm. His school hadn’t had a club meeting since the year before, when everyone got poorer and school got overwhelmingly sad. “I almost miss ‘em.”

“Me too,” Steve says. He hugs his chests and adds, “I liked art.”

When he says this, Steve looks up at Bucky as if he expects the older kid to punch him. It’s a reasonable thing to assume: If Bucky said he liked art at his own school, he’d get smacked and called a queer. But the thought of treating Steve that way—the thought that anyone in the world could look at this brave, polite, kind-hearted, emotional kid and want to hurt him—is maddening.

So Bucky just says, “That’s cool.” The look that he gets in return—Steve’s lit-up eyes, his wide smile—is better than any fight Bucky’s ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this fic with historical accuracy in mind, although of course my information is imperfect, and I didn’t do a ton of research around the slang. I included a few historical Easter eggs for anyone who knows about them or wants to read up, including the years-long construction of Bryant Park, the mob presence in Hell’s Kitchen, Prohibition (and those who didn’t comply), as well as a missing persons case that shook America until it was “solved” in 2005. The case might come up later, but if it does, it won’t be a major plotline.
> 
> Let me know if you think this is worth continuing, and anything you’d want to see if so! <3


	2. It’s Nice To Have A Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky have lunch with their families.
> 
> Bucky POV  
> August 1930  
> Bucky is 13, Steve is 12, Rebecca Barnes is 11, Lillian Barnes is 8, Janet Barnes is 7
> 
> Title is from "Lover" by Taylor Swift. There will probably be a lot of Taylor Swift chapter titles. Bear with me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING (minor spoilers ahead): Bucky’s father is more abusive in this chapter, but not graphically. There is a bit of victim blaming, as Bucky doesn’t yet understand why his mother would stay with an abuser. Also, there’s a brief mention of food/disordered eating (but it’s only a couple lines and not graphic, just a loss of appetite).
> 
> It’s probably a bit ~romantic~ for twelve and thirteen, but hey, if I met my soulmate at that age I’d be ~romantic~ too.
> 
> They’ll age up a bit in chapter three!

Sarah Rogers loves Bucky almost as much as her son does.

Ever since they met, the two boys have been inseparable. Every morning when Bucky wakes up, he hops on a streetcar to DUMBO and knocks politely on the Rogerses’ door. Sarah usually answers, her smile lighting up her face at the sight of her son’s new friend. Every day, Bucky says, “Hello, ma’am,” and every day she replies, “Call me Sarah.” It’s a wonderful privilege, to know and be known by her: This strong, vulnerable woman who spends her workdays taking care of people, then spends her off days doing it too.

If Bucky’s parents knew that he was calling a lady by her Christian name, they’d wash his mouth with soap. Then again, Bucky’s parents don’t have much say in what he does nowadays.

If Bucky comes over early enough, Sarah will offer him breakfast. Bucky always offers money in return—he knows how hard it is for everyone, and he could always eat breakfast at home—but each time, Sarah just pats Bucky’s hand and places it back at his side.

Instead, Bucky helps out around the house. Sometimes he’ll be there for hours before Steve even wakes up, chatting with Sarah and helping her with chores. When Steve walks out of his room, rubbing his eyes and yawning, Bucky will greet him with, “Hey, Stevie!” and a smile as big as the sun. Steve will wave, maybe grunt as a greeting, and either Sarah or Bucky will bring him leftovers from their breakfast, anything they didn’t eat themselves.

Steve usually eats about half of it before thanking his mother and friend and pushing the plate to the side.

At the beginning, Bucky would try to get Steve to eat more. “That’s it?” he’d ask when Steve pushed away his breakfast.

Steve says he’s never hungry in the morning, but Bucky worries all the same. He knows that Steve gets picked on for his size, and he doesn’t understand why the younger kid doesn’t bulk up.

It takes a while for Bucky to realize that Steve doesn’t choose not to eat. His appetite is really that small.

The week before they’re due back at school—Steve in seventh grade, Bucky in eighth—Bucky asks his great-aunt if they can have Steve and Sarah over to celebrate.

“They always feed me, Aunt Mabel,” Bucky says. “Shouldn’t we feed them too?”

His great-aunt grumbles, but assents to a lunch on the Sunday before Labor Day.

When Sunday comes, Bucky wakes up early, filled with excitement. For the first time all summer, he doesn’t go to Steve’s first thing. Instead, he cleans his room. Bucky runs around for half an hour, throws his clothes and baseball gear under the desk, wipes dust off of it with his fingers, and shakes out his rug. When he’s satisfied with the work he’s done, Bucky washes his hands and moves on to the living room.

Aunt Mabel’s apartment is small. The living room is the only room that Bucky doesn’t hate. It’s decently spacious—there’s a couch and an armchair, and the ever-playing radio makes the room feel like part of the city. Aunt Mabel is always there, sitting in her armchair and reading the newspaper no matter the time of day.

When Bucky emerges from his bedroom after cleaning, his great-aunt is doing just that. When he sees her, Bucky asks, “Do we have enough silverware for lunch?” Aunt Mabel has a vast collection of plates and bowls, but Bucky’s only ever seen three forks.

“Your father’s bringing extra,” she replies.

Bucky freezes. “Why’s Pop coming?” he asks. He advances on his great-aunt, standing over her with his hands on his hips, openly pouting. He knows that he’ll get sass from her for this, but Bucky feels affronted, and he can’t help how he reacts.

Aunt Mabel glances up from the top of the newspaper. “Don’t be fresh,” she says. “Your father asked what I was doing for Sunday dinner, so I told him. He wants to meet your friend.”

“Sure he does,” Bucky mutters. The only time his father shows an interest in his life is when he’s making fun of him. “Are Ma and the girls coming too?”

Aunt Mabel shrugs, and Bucky recognizes this as the end of the conversation. “I’m gonna go to Steve’s, so I can walk him and Mrs. Rogers over.”

Aunt Mabel grunts her assent.

Before he leaves, Bucky turns around and says, “Could you give me a heads-up next time? It’s not like Pop and I have been getting along lately.”

“And whose fault is that?”

 _Not mine_ , Bucky thinks, but he doesn’t say anything out loud.

When Bucky arrives at Steve’s apartment, both he and his mother notice that something is wrong. Bucky doesn’t bound through the door with his usual enthusiasm; instead, he seems withdrawn. Steve even takes an extra bite of breakfast, just to prove to Bucky that he’s eating, but it elicits no response.

After ten minutes of this, Sarah gives Steve a knowing look and says, “I’ll be in the bedroom if you need me.” Then she walks out the door, leaving Steve and Bucky alone in the kitchen.

Steve pokes at his plate, then pushes it towards Bucky. “You hungry, Buck?”

Bucky shakes his head. He feels sick to his stomach, like he’ll never have an appetite again.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

Bucky looks up from the table to lock eyes with Steve. The younger boy rests his chin on his hands, elbows on the table, and stares at Bucky with an intensity to which Bucky’s grown accustomed.

“Nothing,” Bucky says.

Steve raises an eyebrow.

“My family is coming for lunch today,” Bucky continues. When he hears this, Steve takes a hand away from his face and extends it across the table. Bucky takes it, gives Steve’s hand a squeeze, then retreats back into himself.

Bucky wonders if he’ll have to say more—if Steve is unaware of his issues with his father—but the boy’s face is entirely sympathetic. His hand is still stretched across the table, and Bucky is tempted to take it again.

Instead, he opens up.

“I just didn’t think I would see him today,” Bucky says. “I haven’t seen him since he kicked me out. I thought I’d have more warning—that I’d be able to psych myself up before I saw him. But now it’s happening, and I feel like the world’s gone upside-down.”

“The world is already upside-down,” Steve replies. “Maybe you’ve turned it right-side-up again.”

Bucky grins, but he doesn’t have the energy to laugh. Steve stands up, comes to the other side of the table and places a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. His proximity makes Bucky’s heart pound.

“Maybe you’re right,” Bucky says. He glances up at Steve and adds, “It’ll be easier with you there, at least.”

“And Ma,” Steve adds. “And if you need to sleep here tonight, you can.”

Bucky turns in his chair to look properly at Steve. The boy drops his arm from Bucky’s shoulder, stares at him with his trademark concern. It’s hard to be upset when Steve's around.

Bucky glances at the bedroom door to make sure Sarah’s still in there, then stands up. He puts his hands on Steve’s shoulders, looks him in the eye, and draws him into a hug.

It’s immeasurably comforting, resting his head in Steve’s hair and squeezing his friend around the shoulders. Steve hugs him back, of course—he always does—tight around the waist. Bucky is about a head taller than Steve, so Steve can rest his head in Bucky’s neck as Bucky leans into his hair.

Bucky tells himself that he’s just upset about seeing his dad, that there’s nothing wrong with looking to his friend for comfort. Still, he keeps eyeing the door to the bedroom, and when he hears a small noise he jumps back, disentangling himself from Steve.

Bucky clears his throat and smiles half-heartedly. It will be better with Steve there. It has to be.

When it’s time for them to go, Steve knocks on the bedroom door and tells his ma to come out. Sarah exits the bedroom wearing her Sunday best, lipstick red and bright.

Bucky leads her and Steve out of their building and onto the subway. It’s a bit of a hike to Sunset Park, but they’ve left plenty of time to get there. Bucky hopes to arrive early, to have a bit of extra time before his dad comes.

Unfortunately, when Bucky walks into the apartment, his family is already there.

“Jimmy!” Bucky hears as soon as he walks in the door. His dad is the only one who calls him that. Sure enough, sauntering out of the kitchen and towards the door is George Barnes, Bucky’s father.

Bucky stands up straight, plasters on a fake smile, and says, “Hi, Pop.”

George slaps a hand on Bucky’s cheek, squeezes his face and grins with all his teeth. It’s a mask he wears in front of other people, but it’s a realistic one. No one ever sees what’s underneath.

Bucky’s biggest fear—one that he’s never told anyone, not even Steve—is that his loved ones will like Bucky’s father, that Bucky is the only one who doesn’t. His sisters are too young to see what Bucky sees, and George isn’t as mean to them as he is to Bucky. Sometimes Bucky thinks that his mother sees what’s underneath the mask—he sees the fear in her eyes when she looks at him—but even so, Bucky doesn’t think she’ll ever admit it out loud.

George makes a big show of looking behind Bucky at Sarah and Steve. “These must be the Rogerses!” George bellows, pushing Bucky aside to kiss Sarah’s hand. As Bucky rubs his cheek, Steve slips around their parents and moves closer to him, tries to look at his face.

Automatically, Bucky steps back. If his family saw Steve and him act the way they act when they’re alone, Bucky’d never be able to see him again. But Steve looks hurt at the withdrawal, so Bucky doesn’t hesitate to step beside him and whisper in his ear, “I’m okay, Stevie.”

When Bucky pulls away, he looks at Steve and forces his lips into a smile.

Steve seems unconvinced.

George gets bored of Sarah quickly. Soon enough, he moves onto his favorite pastime: Telling Bucky everything that’s wrong with him.

“Why can’t you get a gal like that?” George asks, pointing to Sarah. Bucky’s ma is within earshot, and Bucky turns beet red as he looks at her.

“Because I’m thirteen,” Bucky replies. He knows this is an inadequate response, but what is he supposed to say? That he doesn’t want a girlfriend, that Sarah is his best friend’s ma? That isn’t what his father wants to hear.

“When I was your age—younger!—I had girls lining up for me,” George says, winking at Sarah. She puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder protectively. 

George is either oblivious to Sarah’s discomfort or he’s enjoying it. Knowing his father, Bucky guesses the latter.

George claps Bucky on the shoulder and continues: “My son here can’t even get one dame, let alone a line of ‘em!” He lets out a full-body laugh.

When Bucky was old enough to notice, he learned that his father was mean. More than that, George enjoyed being mean, and was mean loudly—there’s never any quiet in their house. One of the only things Bucky likes about living with Aunt Mabel is the quiet, the lack of people competing for attention, the lack of his father at all. Bucky loves his younger sisters, but they’re always running or yelling or chatting or pulling Bucky’s sleeves. Steve’s life is a sharp contrast to that chaos.

Right now, his father’s din is overwhelming. Bucky looks to his mother for support, but Winifred Barnes is chatting with Aunt Mabel. When his mother hears George laugh, Bucky sees her whole body tense, as if an alarm had gone off.

Bucky always thought that if his mother had a backbone she would leave their whole family behind. It’s what Bucky would do, if he could. Living away from his mother and sisters this summer had been lonely—less lonely after Bucky met Steve—but living away from his father was miraculous.

Now, though, for the first time since school let out, Bucky’s father was taking up space. As Bucky tries to tune out the noise, he hears his father comment on Steve’s stature, says something about his needing to eat more. But that’s not what breaks Bucky down—no, that happens when he sees Steve’s face fall, when he hears his polite reply.

 _How could I bring him here, knowing my father was here too?_ Bucky asks himself. As always when his father is around, Bucky retreats in on himself, folding his hands under his armpits and trying to be as small as possible. He doesn’t think anyone can see him when he’s like this, he just fades into the background.

The illusion never lasts long. Just as he shuts his eyes—tries to ignore the creeping guilt of bringing Steve and Sarah into his mess—he feels a light hand on his shoulder.

Ma.

Bucky opens his eyes and looks into his mother’s. She cups his cheek softly, runs the back of her hand across the bruise that’s beginning to form there. “Hi, sweetheart,” she says, and even with everything going on in Bucky’s head, it makes him smile.

“Hi, Ma.”

Winifred leads him into the kitchen and fills a cup with ice. Without a word, she holds the cold glass to Bucky’s cheek, providing relief he didn’t realize he needed. Bucky closes his eyes and leans into it.

“Thanks,” Bucky says, smiling at his mother. Winifred’s lips are pursed, her eyebrows drawn in a tight line across her face. “Keep it there, would you?”

Bucky’s ma nods. She has the same nervous energy as the last time Bucky saw her, at the restaurant the night he’d met Steve. Rather than make more time for his family, Bucky had pulled farther away, choosing to spend all his time with the Rogerses. Sometimes he wonders if it hurts his mother’s feelings, and when he’s in a bad mood, he hopes that it does.

Still, now that Bucky is face-to-face with his mother, it doesn’t feel right to be mad. Guilt still tugs at his chest, though, at leaving his mother behind.

“Are you mad at me?” Bucky blurts out before he can stop himself.

Winifred’s mouth opens in surprise. She sets the glass on the counter and takes Bucky’s face in her hands.

“No,” she says, “I’m not mad at you. Sweetheart, why would you think that?”

“You’ve been different lately,” Bucky mutters. He knows he has no right to say this, when he’s barely seen her this month. Still, he adds, “Like you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset with you,” Winifred says softly. She drops her hands to Bucky’s shoulders and squeezes. “Work has been hard lately. That’s all.”

Bucky frowns. He doesn’t believe her, and he feels bad about that, but it doesn’t make him believe her any more. She’s hiding something, and Bucky wants to know what it is.

He doesn’t say anything, though. Instead of talking, Winifred drops her hands from Bucky’s shoulders, grabs the cup of ice, and places it back on his cheek.

“Buck?” The small voice comes from the other side of the kitchen.

Bucky startles, glances behind his mother to see who spoke.

Steve looks at Bucky’s ma before he crosses the room. Winifred steps out of the way, walks to the other side of the kitchen so Steve can stand next to his friend. Then Steve leans into Bucky and whispers, “Are you okay?”

The question makes Bucky want to cry. He’s never had a friend like Steve before, one who’s willing to express his emotions and is so attuned to Bucky’s. None of Bucky’s friends from school are like this: They’re just guys he thinks are funny, guys that don’t completely suck to hang out with. Steve is different—Steve is someone he _wants_ to hang out with.

So instead of succumbing to the tears he knows will come, Bucky smiles and says, “Yeah, Stevie, I’m fine.”

Steve’s eyes dart back to Winifred, who smiles at him reassuringly. “Can Bucky sleep over tonight?” Steve asks. Bucky sees determination in his eyes. It’s the look Steve gets when he’s about to start a fight.

“Yes, of course,” Bucky’s mother replies. She turns to Bucky and says, “Whatever makes you happy, James.”

Bucky feels a surge of annoyance. Instead of snapping at her right away, he slings an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “I’d be happy if I could stay with Steve forever,” he says, glaring at his ma. Dialing his tone down to a whisper, he adds, “So I won’t have to live with _him_.”

“Oh, James—”

Bucky leads Steve out of the kitchen before his mother has a chance to finish her thought. It’s mean of her to stay with Bucky’s father and then act like she cares about his happiness. It’s her choices that make him unhappy.

He and Steve walk into the living room. It’s been converted to a dining room for the occasion, by way of a giant table—normally used for Thanksgiving—smack in the middle of the room. Bucky’s arm is still slung around Steve’s shoulders.

“Careful,” George gibes when he sees the two boys, gesturing to Bucky’s arm around his friend. “People might think you two are queer.”

“That’s enough.”

Everyone in the room turns to Sarah Rogers, whose face is the same color as her lips.

“You leave my son alone.”

“Hey, doll,” George says smoothly, like he’s hitting on a girl at the dance hall. He holds up his hands as if to surrender, but he takes a step closer to Steve’s ma. “No need to use that tone.”

“I’ll drop this tone when you apologize for using such foul language on my child,” Sarah spits out. She juts up her chin, her hands balled into fists. Bucky’s half-sure that she’s about to punch his dad, and he wishes that he had a camera.

“No need to get feisty,” George says. He’s mocking her—everyone knows it—but Sarah refuses to be mocked.

Instead, she straightens her posture, unclenches her fists, and smiles. She turns to Bucky’s great-aunt and says, “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Barnes, but my son and I must be going.”

“We haven’t eaten yet,” Aunt Mabel grumbles, but when she notices Sarah’s strong gaze she waves her hand in dismissal.

Steve glances back at Bucky as he walks over to his ma. “You coming?” Steve asks, his concerned face aimed at his friend.

Bucky nods. He looks back at his mother, her face unreadable. His youngest sisters keep playing, oblivious, but Rebecca—who’s just a year younger than Steve—looks up. Her eyes are wide, and she looks back and forth between George and Sarah like she’s watching a match at the ring.

“Bye, Becca,” Bucky says. His sister gives him a small smile before she resumes her game. “Bye Ma. See you tomorrow, Aunt Mabel.”

Winifred doesn’t say anything. She’s frozen in place as she stares between her husband and her son.

It’s so much less than Bucky needs. With one last look at his sisters, Bucky places a hand on Steve’s back and guides him toward the door.

When they’re on the other side of it, Bucky closes the door a bit too forcefully, but keeps his hand on the knob. It’s the first time he’s felt like he could breathe since going back there, since the moment he heard his father’s voice.

He doesn’t know how long he stays that way, but eventually Steve is by his side, wrapping his hand over Bucky’s on the doorknob and urging him toward the stairs. “C’mon, Buck,” Steve says. Bucky looks into his friend’s kind eyes. “Let’s go home.”

So Bucky unsticks their hands from the doorknob, gives Steve’s a squeeze, and doesn’t let go of his friend until they’re at the bottom of the stairs.

Although it’s barely four in the afternoon when they return to the Rogerses’ apartment, Bucky is exhausted. He decides to take a quick nap, lets Steve lead him into his room. Sarah pokes her head in the doorway, asks if they need anything, and Steve shakes his head. When she leaves, Sarah closes the door.

The bed looks like Bucky’s new best friend. Steve leads him there, and for a moment they both sit on the edge, Bucky’s head on Steve’s shoulder, their hands in Steve’s lap. After a minute, Bucky’s eyes flutter shut, so he pulls away from Steve and curls into himself on the far side of the bed.

Steve shifts so he’s parallel to Bucky, so Bucky can press his forehead against Steve’s thigh. Steve places his hand in Bucky’s hair, and it stays there until Bucky falls asleep.

Evening light still streams through the window when Bucky wakes up. He rolls onto his back and yawns, stretches his arms and legs, and then looks over at Steve.

He’s sitting next to Bucky on the bed, sketchpad in hand. His eyes light up when he notices that Bucky’s awake.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I guess so,” Bucky replies. “What time is it?”

“Almost six.” Steve looks back at his sketchpad and continues to draw. Bucky’s seen Steve draw before, but he never shows Bucky what he’s doing. All Bucky ever wants is to know if Steve is drawing him.

So when Bucky tries to peek through Steve’s arms at the sketchpad, he’s surprised when Steve tilts it his way.

The drawing isn’t finished, but Bucky knows exactly who it is. On the page, Sarah Rogers stands tall, fists clenched, chin jutted up in defiance of whoever she’s looking at offscreen. She’s drawn like a superhero, with the outline of a billowing cape and a colorful outfit. The letters SM are on her chest, which Steve explains is short for _Super Ma_.

Bucky reaches out his hand to touch the page, and Steve yanks the sketchpad away. “No touching,” he says. “You’ll mess up the lines.”

“Sorry,” Bucky whispers. He pulls his hand back and stares at the ceiling.

“Buck, it’s okay.” Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky sees Steve place the sketchpad on his nightstand. Then he shifts onto his side and looks at Bucky. Reluctantly, Bucky turns onto his side to face Steve.

“I ruin everything,” Bucky whispers. His eyes start to glisten and he doesn’t try to stop the tears.

Steve reaches out and grabs Bucky’s arm, squeezes it as he looks at Bucky’s face. The gesture makes Bucky feel vulnerable, the way Steve always makes him feel vulnerable. He doesn’t shy away from it, though. Bucky knows his emotions are safe.

“You don’t ruin everything,” Steve whispers back. “You haven’t ruined me.”

Bucky curls into the smaller boy’s chest, lets Steve throw an arm around his shoulders. He doesn’t know what to do with this, this friend that he has, one who allows him to feel all the things that he feels and doesn’t judge him. Bucky’s never had this before—not from his friends at school, and definitely not from his family. Even his mother shushes Bucky when he cries: _Not so loud, sweetheart; not so your father can hear._

But Steve doesn’t say any of that. He doesn’t say _shh_ and he doesn’t shy away. They’ve only known each other for a month, but already, Bucky can’t imagine life without him.

Even when he stops needing the comfort, Bucky stays curled against Steve’s chest. All Steve does is hold him, but it’s everything—the allowance to feel, and the knowledge that his feelings are heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if there’s anything you want to see in future chapters! Either in the comments or on tumblr :)


	3. The Orchestra, The Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve urges Bucky to throw a party for his 14th birthday.
> 
> Steve POV  
> February - March 1931  
> Bucky turns 14, Steve is 12, Rebecca Barnes is 12, Lillian Barnes is 9, Janet Barnes is 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll keep skipping ahead in time, approximately year by year, until we get to the start of TFA. I’m not sure how much childhood/backstory I’m going to put in because I have uhh lots of headcanons/ideas and idk if I want to do 12+ pre-TFA chapters (that would make this fic like 150k+ words ahaha eek). If you guys want me to skip forward I can always write some childhood/young adult scenes later as excerpts, but my instinct is to do it all in a row.
> 
> Historical references/info in the end notes :)

When Steve Rogers hears the word _happy_ , he thinks of Bucky Barnes.

It isn’t that Bucky’s always happy—if Steve really thought about it, he’d come to the conclusion that Bucky never is—but that Steve is always happy when he’s with him. He likes to think that Bucky’s always happy when they’re together too, but in reality, his best friend—because that’s what Bucky is to him, now—is often prone to melancholy moods. Bucky’s almost fourteen, and Steve’s ma says this is normal for teenagers, but Steve knows it isn’t just that.

Of course, Bucky tries to hide his unhappiness from Steve. If he catches Steve staring at his frown, Bucky will say something like, “I’m good, pal, don’t worry.” Steve must be obvious when he’s worried, because Bucky has to do this all the time.

Still, every once in a while, Bucky’s mask slips. Steve remembers the awkward lunch at Bucky’s great-aunt’s, right before school started, when George left a bruise on Bucky’s cheek. Bucky insisted that he hadn’t meant to do it, that it happens when he grips him too hard, but that hadn’t made Steve feel better.

When Steve is alone and he worries, he comforts himself with the thought that Bucky’s not as good a liar as he thinks he is. No matter how much Bucky protests or how tight the mask is tied, Steve can always tell when something is wrong.

So he doesn’t push Bucky to talk. Steve will never call his bluff or force his hand, because when Bucky needs someone to talk to, Steve wants to be the one who listens.

It isn’t an easy friendship. If it were, Steve wouldn’t care half as much.

A few weeks before Bucky’s fourteenth birthday, Steve asks him what he wants as a gift. Bucky laughs, throws an arm around Steve’s shoulders and says, “Nothing. I just want to spend it with you.”

They’re in Red Hook at the time, visiting Bucky’s friend in Tin City, so Steve knows that he’s talking to Bucky’s mask. Still, when Bucky’s hand brushes Steve’s shoulder—when his arm surrounds Steve’s neck—it’s hard to tell the difference between them.

Bucky drops his arm from Steve’s shoulders a mere minute after he puts it there.

It’s the first time they’ve been to Tin City, and Steve’s heart aches at the sight. He knows how close he is to living here, sometimes, when his health is real bad and his ma’s money stretches thin. Still, Steve’s ma always makes it work. She takes extra shifts at the hospital, works dangerous units for extra pay, and does other jobs on the side. Steve isn’t sure exactly what they are, but he knows that if he’s sick and needs medicine, his ma will disappear for a few hours and return with everything he needs.

The February wind bites all of their uncovered skin, and Bucky looks worried when he sees his friend’s blue lips. Bucky stops walking, wraps his scarf around Steve’s forehead, and ties it in the back. Then he grabs Steve’s scarf off his shoulders and wraps it around his chin, all the way up to his nose, so the only bit that’s visible are his eyes.

When Bucky steps back to admire his work, Steve says, “I must look like a mummy.”

The thought amuses Bucky, at least. He asks, “What’s it like on the other side of life?” and Steve laughs because it's easier than telling him how close he’s come to knowing.

As they make their way out of Tin City and enter the subway station, Steve takes the mummifying fabric off his head. It’s always warm down here—even in the dead of winter—so Bucky doesn’t protest when Steve hands him back his scarf.

“Really, Buck,” Steve says as they wait for the northbound train, “what do you want for your birthday?”

Bucky shrugs. He doesn’t look at Steve—instead, he pokes his head around the corner of the platform to see if the train is coming.

“What about a party?” Steve asks. Bucky turns to Steve and scoffs. “No, really,” Steve says, “it could be fun. You could invite anyone you wanted.”

“To my house?” Bucky asks with a laugh. “You know why I can’t.”

Steve shakes his head. “To mine.”

Bucky looks at his friend with wide eyes. “Really?” he asks, breaking into a smile.

“Of course,” Steve says. He loves Bucky’s smile—the crinkle of his eyes, the dimples near his lips—and he loves even more that he’s caused it.

When the train arrives, it’s mostly empty, so Steve sits down and Bucky stands beside him. Bucky has too much energy to sit. Instead, he walks around the car, swinging around the poles and smiling at Steve. Eventually he gets tired, or bored, and stands in front of Steve with a sparkle in his eyes.

“We could get a cake from Margot,” Bucky says. He leans against the pole next to Steve and stares dreamily at the ceiling.

Margot runs the bakery a few blocks from Steve’s place. He and Bucky go there at the end of the day sometimes, and Bucky turns on his charm to ask for anything that Margot didn’t sell. Despite their persistence—or maybe because of it—Margot always gives them something.

It’s hard not to love Bucky’s mask, Steve thinks, but it’s harder not to love the real thing.

“Ma will want to get you something too,” Steve says. “You know, a gift separate from mine.”

Bucky looks at him and frowns. He unsticks himself from the pole and leans down to ruffle Steve’s hair, then leaves his hand on Steve’s head and forces a smile. Steve looks up at Bucky through his lashes.

“That sounds swell,” Bucky says. “I’ll ask Ma.” He takes his hand off of Steve and plops down beside him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. There’s no one else in the car anymore, and Steve knows that this is the only reason Bucky feels comfortable doing this.

Steve tries not to lean into Bucky’s arm, to curl into his side, but it’s hard. He’s aware of Bucky’s hand brushing his sleeve, of the sweat and shampoo smell that Steve has come to recognize as his. But what Steve is really aware of is Bucky’s presence, the energy pulsing off of him in waves, so much of it that Steve feels overwhelmed.

When Bucky gets restless and stands up, Steve is relieved. He isn’t used to that kind of intensity—the kind that makes his heart pound when Bucky is near—and it scares him.

Eventually they get to Steve’s stop. As soon as they exit the car, Bucky pulls off his scarf and starts wrapping it around Steve’s head. Steve tries to protest—“Come on, Buck, I’ll be fine”—but Bucky always wins in the end. They leave the station with Steve in his mummy attire and Bucky with a smug look on his face.

It’s a five minute walk from the station to the Rogerses’ apartment. Steve learned pretty quickly that Bucky would always walk him home, that he felt better knowing that Steve hadn’t picked a fight or caught a cold along the way. It annoyed Steve at first, but now it just makes him feel loved. Bucky waves when they reach Steve’s apartment, then waits outside until Steve goes through the door.

The next day, Bucky shows up at Steve’s with his mask off, even though Sarah answers the door. Steve is sitting on the couch at the back of the apartment, sketching the morning light as it shines through the window.

Steve looks up when he hears the door open. He can see Bucky behind his mother—his messy hair, his haphazard clothes—and he knows that something is wrong. Steve tosses his sketchpad to the other side of the couch and walks over to his friend. Bucky doesn’t even close the door behind him, just sulks into the room and collapses on the nearest chair, then covers his face with his hands.

“Buck, what happened?” Steve asks, moving closer. His mother closes the front door, stands behind Bucky, and places a hand on his shoulder.

“Nothing,” Bucky mutters. He looks up at Sarah and forces a smile. “How are you, ma’am?”

“I’m well, Bucky. Thank you for asking. Would you like something to eat?”

Bucky shrugs. “Sure,” he says.

“Grab anything you want from the kitchen.” Sarah smiles mischievously. “I’m sure you’ll find something.”

Bucky smiles. “Thank you,” he says, and Sarah squeezes his shoulder.

“I was planning on grocery shopping today,” Sarah says. “I think I’ll do that now. Be careful while I’m gone.”

“We always are,” Bucky says, and Sarah grins at him on her way out.

When Steve’s ma closes the door, Steve steps closer to Bucky. His friend stands up and claps him on the shoulder, leaving his hand there. “Party’s a no go, Stevie,” Bucky says.

“Buck...”

“Please, don’t.” Bucky turns away from Steve and walks into the kitchen, then rummages through the ice box. Eventually he finds what Sarah had been talking about: Two cupcakes from Margot’s, a couple days old but still good.

Bucky leaves one on the counter and eats the other in one bite. Then he walks to the couch, grabs Steve’s sketchpad, and carefully flips it shut before he collapses horizontally on the sofa, the pad across his chest.

Steve follows his friend to the couch. When he’s close enough, Bucky picks up the sketchpad and holds it out to Steve. Steve places it on the table a few feet away, then begins to drag a chair over. He’s interrupted by Bucky: “Stevie, you’re gonna hurt yourself. Sit here.” He pulls his legs up to his chest, and when Steve sits on the couch, Bucky extends his legs across Steve’s lap. Steve rests his elbows on Bucky’s leg, one on each side of his knee.

“Why?” Steve asks.

Bucky knows he’s not talking about the chair. He fiddles with a loose thread on his sweater, avoiding Steve’s eye. Then he looks up and says, “Pop said so.”

Steve rests his cheek in his hand and turns to Bucky. “He give a reason?”

“He wants to throw a party at home.” Bucky looks at Steve when he says this, then looks back at his shirtsleeve and frowns. Steve pulls it away from Bucky’s prying hand.

“You’re going to make a hole,” Steve says, resting his hand on Bucky’s wrist. “Would a party at home be so bad?”

“Yes,” Bucky says, “and it’s happening.”

“You can still invite whoever you want,” Steve says.

“Family only.” Bucky pulls his hand away from Steve and runs it through his hair. “I don’t want my friends there anyway.”

“Even me?” Steve asks. He hates how small his voice sounds.

Bucky looks through the window behind the couch. The light hits his face and he squints, mouth parted, and Steve finds himself holding his breath.

“Do you _want_ to come?” Bucky asks, dropping his voice to match Steve’s.

“If you want me there, I’m there.”

“I want you there,” Bucky says.

Snowflakes drift outside the window, and Steve gets the sudden urge to draw. The scene is set: Bucky with the light across his face, draped across Steve’s couch. To Steve, it feels like hot chocolate and campfires, like Christmas came early that year. Steve knows, then, that even if he could afford a hundred lessons, even if he were Kandinsky or Dalí, he would never draw anything as beautiful as Bucky is now.

Later, Steve will look back on this moment and think about everything he knew. Bucky made his whole heart come to life, awakened parts of it that Steve didn't know were there. His feelings were the swell of an orchestra, the first bite of food when you’re starved.

On the couch, Steve is silent. All he does is watch Bucky watch the snow, but he feels it: the orchestra, the bite.

On March 8th, 1931—the Sunday before Bucky’s birthday—Sarah Rogers kisses the top of Steve’s head as they stand at Bucky’s door. Bucky lives with his parents again, has since the school year began, and their neighborhood is much nicer than their aunt’s. As Steve grips his presents and stares at the door, he realizes how strange it is that this is his first time here. He knows why, of course, but the normalcy of Bucky’s presence at the Rogerses’ slips away as Steve is vividly presented with the fact that Bucky lives somewhere else, most of the time.

“I’m okay from here, Ma,” Steve says. He knows how hard it was for Bucky not to invite her, and Steve doesn’t want him to have to see her leave.

“Have fun, darling. Say hi to Bucky for me,” Sarah says. She squeezes her son’s shoulder one more time before she walks away.

When his mother’s footsteps have faded, Steve takes a deep breath and knocks on the Barnes’s front door. As soon as he does, it swings open, and Bucky bursts into the hallway.

“Hey Stevie,” Bucky says, grabbing Steve’s hand and leading him down towards the stairs. Steve is out of breath almost immediately—taking the stairs hadn’t been fun the first time—but he huffs along as Bucky steers him down to the first floor, then outside.

When they round the corner to the back of the building, Bucky stops. He drops Steve’s hand and sinks to the ground, his back against the wall. Steve furrows his brow and stares at his friend, who silently pats the ground beside him.

Still clutching the presents, Steve slides down the wall next to Bucky. He can’t discern the look on Bucky’s face: His eyebrows are tightly knit, and his lips are in a thin line. If anything, it looks like Bucky’s concentrating.

Steve waits for his friend to speak first.

It doesn’t happen right away. For a while they sit in silence, Steve staring sideways at Bucky, Bucky either concentrating on a thought that Steve’s not privy to or just on trying not to scream. Either way, Steve’s whole body tenses, and he doesn’t relax until Bucky looks at him and says, “Thanks for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” Steve says. He doesn’t know how else to respond.

“I couldn’t be there any longer,” Bucky says. “My dad—it was—”

“You don’t have to explain,” Steve replies.

Bucky glances at Steve, then back at his shoes. “I’m sorry,” he mutters.

“Don’t be,” Steve says. “I hate your mother’s cooking, anyway.”

Bucky laughs and slowly blooms. Rather than continue to hunch over his knees, Bucky sits up and rests his arms on them. He looks at Steve with a sideways grin and says, “She’d kick your ass if she heard that.”

Steve’s lips quirk up in response. “I don’t doubt it,” he says. Then, remembering what he’s holding, Steve shoves the gifts in Bucky’s lap and says, “Here.”

Bucky holds the presents like they’re newborns. Steve watches as he runs his fingers along the edges and squints at the text on the newspaper they’re wrapped in. The gift from Steve is long and thin—Bucky must know it’s a drawing—and the one from Sarah is small and semi-spherical.

“You didn’t have to get me two,” Bucky says. His fingers gloss over the newspaper and string.

“I didn’t,” Steve replies. “One is from Ma.” He expected a hug, but Bucky’s mouth is turned down. When he does smile at Steve, his eyes are hollow.

Still, Bucky opens his presents. He starts with Steve’s: Bucky slowly pushes off the string, careful not to rip the paper. When he uncovers the drawing, he inhales, holding it along the edges so the picture doesn’t smudge.

“Super Ma,” Bucky says.

And it is. The drawing Steve had started all those months ago, of Sarah standing up to Bucky’s dad, was finally complete.

“Is that you?” Bucky asks. He points to a smaller figure near the edge of the page: A scrawny blond boy wearing red white and blue. _Boy Wonder_ is written across his chest.

“Every hero needs a sidekick,” Steve says, blushing. “I figured my ma’s would be me.”

“Cool,” Bucky says. He scoots closer to Steve and rests his head on Steve’s shoulder before quickly straightening up again. “I’m gonna keep it forever.”

“You better,” Steve says. “That's how long it took to draw.”

Bucky’s fingers trace the edges of the page for another moment before he picks up the newspaper and wraps it up again, then slips on the string. He untucks his shirt from his pants and slips the drawing in his waistband before tucking in his shirt again.

Sarah’s present is a snow globe that she’d bought a few weeks prior at the market. It’s small and simple, with a black base and a pine tree in the center, but Bucky smiles when he shakes it and sees snow.

Steve shivers, his arms erupting with goosebumps, even though he doesn’t feel cold. Bucky glances over and frowns, then stands up and puts the snow globe in his pocket.

“Let’s go back inside,” he says, holding a hand out to Steve.

Gratefully, Steve grabs it and pulls himself up. Bucky watches him carefully, like he’s just now remembering it’s winter. Then he drops Steve’s hand and turns wordlessly back towards the front of the building. Steve follows him inside.

When they get to the Barnes’s front door, Bucky reaches in his pockets and sighs, grumbling about forgetting a key. He knocks loudly, and they shuffle around the hallway for a minute before Bucky knocks again and someone answers.

It’s Rebecca, Bucky’s eleven-year-old sister and the oldest of the three. She looks wide-eyed at Steve, just like always, and it makes Steve uncomfortable. He’s always figured she was stunned by his sickly appearance, but when Bucky shoves into the apartment and she scampers away, Bucky turns to Steve and mutters, “She’s so annoying when she has a crush.”

“A crush?” Steve follows Bucky inside and shuts the door behind them.

There’s no one in the living room. Rebecca’s gone off to God knows where, and other than some faraway giggles, there’s no sign of Bucky’s other siblings. A slow song plays softly on the radio, and it reminds Steve of a funeral.

“You didn’t know Becca was sweet on you? Stevie, that’s adorable.” There’s an edge to Bucky’s voice, and Steve isn’t sure where it came from. He shoves Bucky playfully on the shoulder and Bucky pretends to fall back, as if the touch had knocked him out.

Just then, Winifred walks out of the bathroom and sees them. She says a quick hello to Steve and then pulls Bucky aside, moving them into the kitchen.

Steve walks to the back of the apartment, away from their conversation. He sits on a chair in the living room, as far away from the kitchen as he can get, and taps his fingers along to the radio.

Giggles erupt from somewhere off to Steve’s right. He turns around and sees Bucky’s little sisters—Rebecca, plus Lillian and Janet—hunched together in the doorway. When they see Steve staring, Lillian and Janet poke Rebecca’s side and laugh harder.

Rebecca is beet red. She stares wide-eyed at Steve as her sisters continue to poke her. Steve gives a little wave and grins, and Rebecca shoves her sisters back into the room and slams the door.

“Girls?” Winifred calls from the kitchen.

When there’s no response, Winifred walks into the living room with Bucky trailing behind her. His arms hug his chest—hug the picture in his waistband—and he refuses to look at Steve.

Steve stands up and looks at Bucky’s ma. “Should I leave, ma’am?” he asks. He doesn’t want to leave Bucky when he looks like this, but if Bucky’s dad comes back and Steve is here, it would make his friend feel worse.

“Bucky’s father is sleeping at his aunt’s tonight,” Winifred replies. It shouldn’t be an answer, but it’s all Steve needs to know.

“Can Steve sleep over?” Bucky mutters. He looks up at his ma and adds, “Please?”

“Let me ring Mrs. Rogers,” Winifred says, rubbing a hand on her son’s shoulder. She turns back to the kitchen, and Bucky walks over to Steve as she dials.

When they’re next to each other, Bucky leans into Steve’s ear and says, “Come with me.” Then he smiles—the biggest one Steve’s seen from him all day—and leads him to his room.

Bucky’s bedroom is half the size of the Rogerses’s entire apartment. There are windows next to the bed, a bookshelf filled with comic books and _Nancy Drews_ (which Bucky claims he holds onto for Rebecca). His closet is big enough to need two doors. Bucky heads toward it as soon as he enters the room.

By the time Steve closes the door, Bucky is relaxed. He shoves aside a folding chair piled with clothes and opens one of his closet doors. Then he untucks his shirt, carefully pulls out the drawing, and unwraps it.

“Hand me the tape?” Bucky asks, and Steve nods. There’s a roll of scotch tape on one of Bucky’s bookshelves, sitting on top of some cut-out _Thimble Theatre_ comic strips. Steve smiles—he’d introduced Bucky to Popeye the Sailor—and gives him the roll of tape.

Bucky puts it in his pocket before pushing his clothes aside, revealing the back wall. As Steve moves closer, he can see strips from all of the comics he’s shown Bucky that past year: _Little Orphan Annie, Betty, Buck Rogers,_ and more.

When Steve first showed Bucky the comics in his own cut-out collection, from half a decade’s worth of newspapers, Bucky had looked mostly at _Buck Rogers._ There was something about the character, a futuristic crime-fighting hero with Bucky’s nickname and Steve’s last, that appealed to them both. So when Steve gazes at the wall and sees the original _Buck Rogers_ newspaper strip front and center, it makes him blush.

Bucky pushes aside more of his clothes to reveal a couple of Steve’s doodles and a blank section of wall, then reaches in his pocket for the tape. Before Steve realizes what’s happening, Bucky places Steve’s drawing on the wall and tapes it in place, rolling the tape around his finger and sticking it on the back so it won’t mark the page. Then he stands back, puts his hands on his hips, and admires his handiwork.

Steve doesn’t know what to say. The wall isn’t just a symbol of their friendship, it _is_ their friendship: Silly characters that Steve drew on napkins, things that they read together, Buck Rogers saving the world. To see it hidden in the back of Bucky’s closet makes Steve feel an onslaught of sadness, rising in his chest and in his throat, threatening to spill on his cheeks. But he holds himself together and moves closer, then grabs Bucky by the hand.

For a moment, they look at the wall. Steve and his ma look fierce on paper, like anyone who hurt Bucky could answer to their fists. Steve hopes that Bucky knows how much it’s true.

That night, they find all of the pillows in the apartment and make a fort in Bucky’s closet. His clothes spill into his room—under his bed, on his bookcase, across the floor—and the pillows take their place. They play card games and sneak snacks inside, protected by the cushions above them, safe from the rest of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the aggressively overt metaphor but also no I’m not :’)
> 
> Historical references include:  
> 1) the Tin City Hooverville in Red Hook. Steve definitely would’ve known people from his neighborhood who lost everything and had to live there, and I like to think that Bucky’s just friends with a variety of people. Bucky certainly would’ve had more friends in general, imo — Steve doesn’t strike me as the “friends of convenience” type.  
> 2) various 1920s/30s comic strips & books (including the precursor to Popeye, “Thimble Theatre,” and the Buck Rogers comic in-lined in the chapter.)  
> 3) Snow globes were popularized in the US in the late ‘20s and sold for around $1, or $18 modern. Sarah definitely splurged on our boy, and Bucky definitely feels guilty about it. She’s just so happy that Steve finally has a good friend that a birthday present is, in her mind, the least she can do for him.  
> 4) Steve’s art supplies. I didn’t look into this too deeply, but I imagine that he primarily drew with pencil stubs he picked up from school and saved his colored pencils for special occasions. And what’s more special than Bucky?  
> 5) famous artists of the 1920s that Steve would’ve known, and whom I think he would’ve looked up to: Salvador Dalí and Wassily Kandinsky. Kandinsky was nearing the end of his career when Steve was growing up, and Dalí was new-ish on the scene in the 20s. Both were abstract painters, which I think Steve would’ve been into (even though I imagine he spends a lot of time learning the basics and draws primarily realistic images as a kid).
> 
> Semi-historical references include:  
> 1) a bakery in Steve’s poor neighborhood. I like to think that Margot kept her business afloat with a combination of willpower, mob connections, and the Bakery & Confectionary Worker’s Union, but I don’t know if it could’ve existed specifically in Northwest Brooklyn in 1931. You might have to suspend disbelief a little bit for this one, but this is the MCU, so that’s going to be necessary regardless.  
> 2) Sarah’s mysterious side job. You can draw your own conclusions on this one — Steve will probably never know, so the reader probably won’t either. Emphasis on probably.  
> 3) the subway stations are always warm. This is based on modern-day NYC subway stations (which are glaringly hot always), but I’m unsure if that’s always been true. I think it would be funny if it was, though.


	4. the ground below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky go to Coney Island.
> 
> Steve POV  
> July 1932  
> Bucky is 15, Steve turns 14
> 
> Title is from "RTJ4" by Run the Jewels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took, quite literally, 500 million years for me to write. I scrapped like 3 versions before I even considered what the theme should be, then I made myself sad a lot, then I got busy, then I made myself sad some more, then I finished it. If anyone else with chronic pain/illness/disability reads this and has Feels(tm) please drop a comment or message me on Tumblr because writing this was hard in the best way and I’d love to discuss it with anyone who’s experienced this too.
> 
> On another note, I’m going to start putting content/trigger warnings in the end notes instead of the beginning because spoilers. (I guess it’s kinda obvious that I talk about disability because I just ranted about it for an entire paragraph BUT still.) As always, feel free to message me on Tumblr (xceru03) if you’re worried about any of the CWs.

Whenever Steve is sick, his ma always tells him one thing: _God is love, my sweet boy; love is salvation._ It’s a truth that extends beyond reason: as long as Steve loves with a ferocity that’s bigger than himself, God will always be with him.

When Steve talks about this with Bucky, his best friend always tells him one thing: “God ain’t real, Steve. If He is, then He must really have it out for me.”

The first time Steve hears this, he and Bucky are in line for the Coney Island Cyclone in the summer of 1932. At Bucky’s words, Steve’s eyes widen and then dart around. Weakly, he whispers, “Don’t say that.”

Bucky smiles, a familiar dullness in his eyes.

“God is love, Buck,” Steve says. “If nothing else, believe in that.”

Bucky playfully shoves Steve on the shoulder. “You sound like a priest when you talk like that.”

“Lotta fine priests out there,” Steve replies, and Bucky laughs.

It’s the first time Steve has ever been to Coney Island. Bucky comes all the time with his family, but Steve’s ma has never been able to afford it. Bucky had offered to pay for Steve a few times over the past couple years, but Steve felt uneasy at the thought. Finally, when Bucky’s pleading became more unbearable than Steve’s acquiescence would be, they agreed that Bucky could pay for them to go to Coney Island for Steve’s birthday.

If he’d known that Bucky would get him a present on top of the Coney Island visit, Steve definitely would have said no. Still, he’d enjoyed the flutter in his chest when Bucky had given him the Dodgers cap on the way to Coney Island, so if Bucky wanted to get him two gifts this year, Steve would let it happen this once.

The line for the Cyclone inches forward. Steve pushes the Dodgers cap out of his eyes and says, “Hey Buck, how close are we to the front?” but when he turns to his side, Bucky is no longer there.

For the first time all day, Steve takes off his cap. He looks around—maybe Bucky found someone to flirt with at the back of the line—but doesn’t see him. Then Steve scoots all the way to the left, stands on his tiptoes, and sees Bucky talking to the operator. After a moment, Bucky scans the crowd, locks eyes with Steve, and waves for him to come forward.

Steve has no idea what Bucky’s doing and he doesn’t want to lose their place in line. He shakes his head.

Bucky gestures again, more vigorously. Steve shakes his head again with equal vigor. Bucky deflates, says something to the operator, then walks back over to Steve.

“He says we can cut,” Bucky tells him. “I told him you have—what’s it called, arrhythmia?—and he said we could move to the front.”

Steve feels his hands start to shake, so he sticks them in his pockets. He does have arrhythmia—it means that his heartbeat is irregular—but that isn’t why he gets tired. Steve’s laundry list of health conditions are seemingly impossible for anyone but him and his ma to remember; even his doctors get confused. Still, it hurts that his best friend doesn’t have this information, as if he didn’t even care enough to learn.

Steve refuses to respond and glares at his shoes instead. One of the laces is untied.

He begins to crouch down, but Bucky puts a hand on his arm. “Let me,” he says, easily kneeling down and tugging at Steve’s laces. “Then we can go to the front.”

“We’re not cutting,” Steve says. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to, if the thought of sitting down sooner didn’t appeal to him. Still, the thought of getting special treatment—of passing all those people who had waited just as long as he had—feels wrong. “I have no right to,” he adds.

“It’s not about _rights_ ,” Bucky replies. His tone is light, mocking in the way that friends do. “It’s about—” Bucky’s eyes move sideways— “your—you know—”

“I’m not going to fall apart if I wait in line for a rollercoaster.”

“But you’re going to get tired,” Bucky says. “I want us to be able to do everything today.”

It’s a nice thought, but Steve is under no illusion that he’ll ever be able to do everything. He understands why Bucky said it, even understands why Bucky feels that way, but that doesn’t stop his skin from crawling or his heart from pounding or his eyes from narrowing.

“We’re not cutting,” Steve says, and he hopes that his tone conveys finality.

Ten minutes later, Steve and Bucky are at the front of the line. Steve’s back is sore, his feet hurt, and his heart pounds, none of which is new. He sees Bucky glance at him out of his periphery and does his best to ignore the concern on his friend’s face.

Finally, the operator waves them forward. Steve walks in front of Bucky to where the middle of the car will be and stares at the tracks with his arms crossed. They’re silent until the coaster rolls into view.

As the train creeps onto the tracks, Steve feels his stomach twist. He turns around and sees Bucky light up, concern shifting into excitement. When he sees Steve looking at him, Bucky’s grin gets even wider. “You’re gonna love it,” he says. “I promise.”

Steve shoots his friend a thin smile.

When the previous riders are gone, Steve turns away from the coaster to glance up at Bucky. Bucky nods encouragingly, then gives him a little poke in the back to get him moving. Steve can’t help but grin as he steps onto the train and slides to the far side of the bench. Bucky hops in after him and pulls the bar onto their laps. The operator walks by them, checks the bar, then walks to the coaster’s controls.

When the ride begins, Steve reflexively reaches for Bucky. The train moves slowly, going up and up and up, so high that the people on the beach look like toy soldiers. Steve’s face is hot and his throat closes; for a moment, he thinks that he won’t be able to breathe. Then he feels Bucky’s hand on his, a gentle squeeze, and Steve takes a deep breath to relax.

“Are you okay?” Bucky whispers, scooting closer on the bench so that his thigh is pressed against Steve’s. Steve’s breath hitches and he nods. He risks a quick glance at Bucky, whose eyes are narrowed in concern. Steve frowns and faces forward, but he clutches Bucky’s hand with all his strength, digging his nails into Bucky’s skin.

Any moment now the coaster will fall. Steve doesn’t register how deeply his fingernails are digging into Bucky until his friend takes his other hand and gently pries away Steve’s fingers, then rests his hand on top.

“It’ll be okay,” Bucky says into Steve’s ear. At the peak of the hill, he grins and adds, “Only six people have died on this thing.”

Steve’s scream of “THAT’S NOT FUNNY!” is drowned out by the drop. He swears the car jumps off the tracks as it falls; they’re practically vertical. His heart is all over his body as he clutches the safety bar with the hand that isn’t holding Bucky’s, only vaguely registering the fact that his best friend is laughing.

At the bottom of the hill they zoom sideways and Steve’s stomach flips unpleasantly. The coaster zips and turns, there are a few smaller hills, and it feels like it lasts a hundred years. Then finally, the coaster slows down, crawls into the tunnel, and stops.

Steve leans over the side of the car and pukes his guts out.

He feels the rub of small circles on his lower back, and he knows that Bucky is touching him where no one can see. It would hurt, normally, the fact that Bucky’s so afraid to be close to him, but Steve is too busy retching to think about it. When he’s done, Steve wipes his mouth with his sleeve and Bucky lightly squeezes his side.

“Your breath must stink,” Bucky whispers. “Let’s get you some gum.”

He pushes the safety bar up and Steve wobbles out of the car. Bucky walks a few paces behind him, which Steve notes is closer than usual. He hates this—not just Bucky’s fear of taking care of him in public, but all of it—the way he can’t ride a rollercoaster without throwing up, the way his body shakes as if he has a fever, the lightheadedness, the dizziness, the overwhelming _weakness_ that feels unique to him. Steve isn’t upset that he puked, he’s upset that he’s the only one who did.

He thinks that Bucky understands this, now. Bucky doesn’t pester him to eat anymore, no longer pokes fun at him for how he’s always cold. When they were younger it was easier to laugh, to say _I’m cold because my heart is_ , to have Bucky know that wasn’t true.

Sometimes Bucky pushes, when he thinks that Steve needs something he’s refusing to give himself. But Steve knows his body, knows when something is wrong or when something is really wrong. Bucky doesn’t see him as a kid who’s dealt with illness his whole life, he sees Steve as stubborn, headstrong, willing to start a fight even if he doesn’t know that he can win. It’s one of the things that Steve loves about him—that Bucky doesn’t see him as ill—but it’s hard to explain how he feels about his body, this place that he lives, when it feels like it wants to evict him.

On the worst days, Bucky’s instinct is to take care of him in a way he doesn’t need. It’s annoying—Steve knows the signs, he knows when his body needs help, Bucky doesn’t—but on the best days, Steve can push this aside and just enjoy the fact that Bucky wants to help him.

Today isn’t one of those days. As Steve wobbles away from the Cyclone, he gets angry. He walks faster so Bucky will be further away from him, but Bucky just gets closer in response. When they get to a stall selling gum, Bucky reaches for his wallet and Steve slaps his hand away.

“But I want some,” Bucky says.

“Shut up,” Steve replies, and he hands the cashier all his change.

Steve and Bucky sit in silence on opposite sides of a bench with three feet of space in between them. The gum’s strong flavor made Steve gag at first, but he’d either hidden it well or Bucky had chosen not to comment on it. Either way, Steve was glad that he’d been granted the dignity to chew the stupid spearmint in peace.

He chews loudly, hoping to elicit a request to _close your goddamn mouth_ from Bucky, anything so Steve doesn’t have to be the one to break the silence. But when Bucky finally speaks, it’s not about Steve’s chewing. “Feeling better?” he asks, glancing sideways at Steve. “Once your breath is settled we should play games.”

An image flashes in Steve’s mind before he can stop it—Bucky’s eyes laser-focused on a carnival game, doing what he needs to do to win, then winning; Bucky lifting Steve off the ground and spinning him (and Steve isn’t nauseous somehow); then Bucky smirking as he grabs the biggest bear from the booth and gives it to Steve with a smile.

As far as impossibilities go, Steve thinks that this one is nice.

“How does that sound?” Bucky asks.

Steve cracks his gum.

“What, you don’t want to?” Bucky asks. From the corner of his eye, Steve sees Bucky sneak a glance at him before squinting up at the sun. “That’s okay. We can ride another coaster, if you’re up for it.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Steve asks.

Bucky sighs. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” Steve replies. “Please, explain.” He tries to blow a bubble, but it pops in his mouth.

The flavor is dull now, and Steve’s breath tastes fine—there’s no point in chewing the gum other than the new familiarity. He tries to blow another bubble, and it pokes its way out of his mouth.

“You don’t have to be so annoyed,” Bucky says. Finally, Steve turns to him, contorting his face into what he hopes conveys that annoyance. He knows he’s being petulant, but he thinks that Bucky should see the way he feels.

“Fine,” Bucky says. Steve thinks that he’s finally angry, but Bucky’s tone is amused as he says, “We’ll just sit here in silence.”

Steve nods, suppressing a grin. He must not have done a good job, because Bucky feels empowered to scoot closer. His eyes dart around when he does it, but Bucky clasps Steve on the shoulder, right by the crook of his neck. “It’s your birthday,” Bucky says, sincerity the foundation of his voice. “We can do whatever you want.”

“Thanks,” Steve mutters. It’s hard to stay mad when Bucky looks at him like that, let alone when he’s being so kind.

After a moment, Bucky breaks away to look behind them. Steve frowns, then turns around and sees a group of boys around their age or older, pointing and snickering. Steve can’t tell from far away, but it looks like they’re pointing at him.

Bucky quickly drops his arm. He stands, and when Steve looks up at him, he sees something in Bucky’s eyes he’s never seen before. They’re wide, almost bulging, and his eyebrows crease together like snakes, worrying his brow. His mouth is pressed in a thin line, and he looks at Steve like he’s unsure of what to do.

Steve is less queasy now, but his knees still wobble as he stands. He nods at Bucky, then turns to face the group of laughing boys with his arms crossed over his chest. Bucky’s shoulders deflate and he mimics Steve’s position as he scrunches his face into a glare. From far away he might even look intimidating, but the illusion is shattered by the shaking fingers resting on his arms.

The boys look at Steve and Bucky, then look at each other and laugh. Some mimic their stances, others make kissing noises, and one of them shouts, “The circus ain’t in town today, freaks!”

Steve drops his arms, clenches his fists, and marches forward.

“Steve, no!” Bucky hisses, but Steve isn’t thinking anymore. He just walks, one leg in front of the other, until he reaches the group of boys.

After a moment, he hears Bucky follow.

“The circus is always in town here,” Steve says, then immediately wishes he’d said something cooler. He pushes the thought away, juts up his chin, and smirks. “You want a show?”

One of the boys laughs, too loud for the sound to be genuine. “You’re gonna be the only one who pays,” he says.

The speaker is the biggest of the group. He stands in the middle, the others lined up on either side. At his words, the other boys force out laughs.

“You wish,” Steve says as he winds up his fist and punches the guy in the mouth.

The fight goes by in a whirlwind. Steve feels himself throw punches and get punched, feels someone kick his knee, forcing him to stumble backwards and fall. His hands press into gravel as he pushes himself up, then he slaps the nearest goon across the face, hoping that the pebbles leave a mark. Eventually, some adult shouts “ _Hey, knock it off!_ ” and the five boys laugh and run away, leaving Steve and Bucky behind.

“And stay away!” Steve yells to their retreating forms. He dusts off his Dodgers cap and laughs—part adrenaline, part relief—and places it back on his head. His smile is big until he turns around and sees Bucky’s face.

His friend looks at the ground, his fists clenched at his sides, and though it’s hard to tell exactly, Steve thinks he might be crying.

“Bucky?” Steve says. He reaches out his arm, but Bucky flinches away, wipes his arm across his eyes, and turns around.

“Why do you always do that?” Bucky asks.

Steve’s arm stops in its tracks. “They were mean,” he says, dropping the arm to his side. “Mean to us.”

Bucky presses his face into his hands. “I know,” he says, “but why can’t you just let them be?”

Adrenaline still courses through Steve’s body. He feels heavy and light all at once, like he could jump in the air and then break the ground as he falls. “You used to go looking for fights,” Steve says. “I didn’t know you didn’t like them anymore.”

“I never liked them.” Bucky still faces the other direction, refuses to look at Steve. His hands drop from his face and he hugs himself, and Steve can’t help but move forward. He moves until he’s standing next to Bucky, not looking at him, just staring at the ground by his side. “You’re not gonna stop,” Bucky says.

It isn’t a question. “I don’t have to do it when I’m with you,” Steve replies.

Bucky laughs. “If you’re gonna start a fight, I’m gonna finish it.” He looks over at Steve and smiles softly, then gestures toward the park’s exit. Steve nods, and they walk out of the park together.

As they walk along West 10th and to the subway, the noises of the park become dim. Bells are diluted by laughter, music doesn’t ring in Steve’s ears, and the whizz of the Cyclone’s descent sounds like the wind. Bucky walks a few paces ahead and Steve tries so hard to keep up, but he fails and he fails and he fails. The next time Steve gets in a fight, he wants to turn around and see his best friend, charging the bullies together, leaping off the same, even ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs (SPOILER WARNING): homophobic bullies/fighting (very brief, not explicitly homophobic), vomiting, discussion of chronic physical illness/lots of feelings about chronic illness that I mostly lifted from my own experiences with chronic pain. If you’re worried about any of this, please don’t hesitate to reach out on Tumblr @ xceru03
> 
> Historical references include:  
> 1\. Coney Island and the Cyclone! If you have 45 minutes to learn about mysterious fires, drunk elephant trainers, and 19th century urban planning, I recommend [this Defunctland video.](https://youtu.be/7C5kxkBPhpE) Although most of the information I got from the video ended up being wholly irrelevant to the chapter, it was really fun to go down this research rabbit hole. (Cyclone info I got from my memory + Wikipedia.)  
> 2\. This chapter took SO GODDAMN LONG to write because the original version (before I narrowed it down to the chronic illness theme) included the 1932 fire at Luna Park as well as a sneak-preview of a character who’s going to show up in the late 30s. I don’t want to give too much away, but let’s just say that *this* mysterious Coney Island fire had an MCU-related cause ;) although I don’t know if it’ll be relevant enough to actually bring up later. For now, this will only exist in the vein of the “Sarah Rogers might be in the mob” tag as a “the 1932 fire at Luna Park may have been started by an MCU villain” tag. (There will probably be many such tags. I am sorry that I am the way I am.)
> 
> MCU references include:  
> 1\. You know the scene in TFA where Bucky says “Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?” and Steve says “Yeah, and I threw up” and Bucky says “This isn’t payback, is it?” and Steve says “Now why would I do that?” Well, this chapter is the time Bucky made Steve ride the Cyclone at Coney Island and Steve threw up :)


	5. Fairies Wear Boots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets the flu. Bucky tries too hard to help him.
> 
> Bucky POV  
> December 1933  
> Bucky is 16, Steve is 15, Rebecca Barnes is 14, Lillian Barnes is 11, Janet Barnes is 10
> 
> Title is from Black Sabbath's "Paranoid."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place around Christmas, but it's not a Christmas Chapter. 
> 
> There are a few changes I've made that affect the whole fic—I learned that Irish-Americans in the 30s typically said "Ma" instead of "Mom," so I changed that in previous chapters. I'm also bumping up the rating from Teen to Mature, not for anything in this chapter, but because future chapters (starting with TFA) will be a bit more violent than I'd originally planned.
> 
> Finally, please note that the period-typical homophobia & internalized homophobia are stronger than previous chapters, as is Bucky's father's verbal abuse. Other content warnings are in the end notes along with historical references.

High schools don’t have art clubs anymore, but the Robert Fulton Elementary School hosts a free art class on the weekends. Bucky tells this to Steve and they go, wrapped in jackets and scarves, Steve’s so tight that Bucky can barely see his face. They call this _the mummy_ , always have, because the scarf wraps around Steve’s whole head.

As they near the Robert Fulton School, Bucky wraps his face in his scarf and growls.

Steve laughs. “Mummies growl now?”

Bucky pauses, pulls the scarf down to his chin. “I’m a werewolf-mummy,” he decides.

Steve nods, still chuckling.

The art class is fun, if confusing. It’s meant for those beyond Bucky’s skill level, so he struggles with the basics while the rest of the class learn techniques. They’re drawing a basket of fruit, which Steve says is a classic way to learn, but Bucky can’t help it; he deviates. It’s not _his_ fault that the basket looks better with a gourd in it.

Bucky’s concentration is interrupted by a laugh. He jolts and glances over at Steve, who points to the gourd on his paper. “You’re not supposed to draw anything that isn’t there,” Steve says, gesturing to the basket of fruit.

“I’m not changing it,” Bucky mutters. His face grows hot. “I like gourds.”

Steve turns back to his paper, a small smile on his face. “You’re allowed.”

At the end of the class, the instructor studies each student’s work. He says nice things to Steve—there are a few muttered critiques, which Steve hurriedly writes on his paper—and when he’s finished, the instructor clasps Steve on the shoulder and smiles.

He frowns when he sees Bucky’s paper.

“You added a gourd,” he says.

As the class draws to a close, Bucky neatly tears his paper from the drawing pad and Steve clutches his to his chest. They exit the classroom, bickering about how many scarves Steve needs to wear to be warm enough.

Bucky pushes open the door and the cold air smacks him in the face. Snow floats in the air and curls around them, just enough to cover the ground. Bucky feels the satisfying _crunch_ of December's last leaves as they walk across campus to the subway.

They haven't been walking for a minute when Steve starts to sniffle. He tries to hide his face from Bucky, as he always does, but it’s silent outside and Steve’s sneezes may as well be alarms.

He stops abruptly and Bucky tenses. “Let’s go to the bridge,” Steve says.

Bucky's shoulders relax, but he knows a fight is coming. Steve's referring to the Penny Bridge by the East River—it’s a ten minute walk in the opposite direction of his place, and anything that close to the water is an invitation for Steve to catch cold.

“It’s the middle of winter,” Bucky tries. He knows that this argument is pointless, that Steve will ultimately do what he wants, but Bucky still feels the need to argue.

Steve punches his arm and laughs. “I can handle the cold,” Steve says, raising an eyebrow and jutting up his chin. The attempt is ruined by the violent shiver that runs through him. “It’s the werewolf-mummy I’m worried about,” Steve adds through chattering teeth.

It would be funnier if Bucky didn’t have to convince Steve not to do things that could kill him all the time. Still, he forces a laugh, clasps Steve on the shoulder, and squeezes. “Werewolf-mummy is undead. It can’t catch cold.”

“Neither can _Boy Wonder_ ,” Steve counters, puffing out his chest. This elicits a real laugh from Bucky and Steve says, “ _Hey_.”

“We can’t go, Steve.” Bucky drops his hand and shoves it in his pocket. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

Steve deflates, then gives a small smile that aches in Bucky's chest. Bucky almost changes his mind, but then Steve says, “Margot’s?”

“Margot’s,” Bucky agrees. He punches Steve lightly on the arm and Steve shoves him, which makes Bucky stumble and laugh.

Margot isn’t there when Steve and Bucky walk into the bakery. Instead, behind the counter is a girl their age with thick, tangled curls and a gleam in her dark eyes. “Hey, Bucky,” she says. “Who’s your friend?”

“Steve Rogers,” Steve says. He walks up to the counter and holds out his hand. The girl shakes it, raises an eyebrow at Bucky as she does, then looks down and smiles at Steve.

When Steve releases her hand, the girl turns to Bucky and says, “Where’d you find this kid?”

“Hell’s Kitchen,” Bucky says. The girl nods knowingly. “Stevie, this is Ruth from school. Her uncle used to work at Billy Haas before Georgie took his place.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ruth says with a grimace. “I can’t go two days without hearing that name and _gonif_ in a sentence.”

“ _Gonif_?” Steve says. He enunciates slowly, _gone-if_ ; a far cry from Ruth’s throaty Yiddish.

“Mr. Levin thinks Georgie stole his job,” Bucky says. “ _Gonif_ means thief.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at Ruth, questioning Bucky's translation. Ruth shrugs and says, “Essentially.”

“Did Georgie steal his job?” Steve asks, turning to Bucky.

“Yes,” Ruth says, and Bucky nods. “So what’ll it be?” she asks, gesturing behind her to the bread display. “Are you going to buy _challah_ or the _goy_ bread?”

“ _Goy_ bread, please,” Bucky says. Ruth rolls her eyes and turns to grab a baguette. “Steve, do you want cupcakes?”

“I can buy my own cupcake,” Steve mutters, then sneezes.

As he pulls out his handkerchief, Bucky says, “I know you can, but I want to buy it for you. Really, you'd be doing me a favor.”

“You're full of it,” Steve says, but he smiles as he stuffs the handkerchief back in his pocket. “You can buy one for me if you buy one for Ma, too.”

Bucky squeezes Steve's shoulder and nods, lets it linger as he reaches in his pocket for some change. Ruth's eyes drift back and forth between them. It’s unnerving, but it’s Ruth; she always looks like she’s reading your mind. Bucky thanks her for the food and pokes Steve in the waist as they make their way out of the bakery.

The cupcake is chocolatey and warm. Sarah chops up the baguette so they can all have a piece, even though they don't have a spread. It’s a nice lunch, all things considered. Still, the whole time they’re eating, Bucky can’t help but focus on Steve’s sniffles and frowns, on everything that they could mean.

The next day, Steve has the flu. Bucky races to the Rogerses’ after a grueling Sunday lunch with his family, which had followed a never-ending mass.

Sarah turns him away at the door and says to come back in a week when Steve is better. In a small voice, Bucky asks, “Is there anything I can do?” but Sarah just shakes her head, squeezes his shoulder, and says that she hopes to see him soon.

Bucky tries to argue, at first. He rambles about going to the pharmacy and doing chores and making soup, but when angry tears start to form in Sarah’s eyes, Bucky raises his hands in defeat, wishes Steve well, and tries to get a glimpse of his friend through the door as Sarah shuts it.

On the walk to the streetcar, Bucky tries not to think about Steve. He could hang out with his school friends, he supposes, but he knows he’s in a funk and he doesn’t want to be with other people. He briefly considers Prospect Park—it’s between Steve’s apartment and his, he could walk there in an hour—but the winter breeze pushes at his neck and he shivers. Outside is not a good option, but neither is the inevitable: Bucky will have to go home.

After twenty-odd minutes on the streetcar, Bucky walks into his apartment and hangs up his scarf and his coat. “So you do know where you live!” George bellows as Bucky enters the apartment. “I was starting to think you were paying the Rogerses’ rent!” Bucky doesn’t respond, just kicks off his boots and goes straight to his room.

When he closes his door, three surprised faces look up at him. Rebecca hangs from his bed upside-down, her calves spread across his comforter, her back pressed into the frame. She’s holding _The Mystery at Lilac Inn_ —which all four siblings agree is the best _Nancy Drew_ —as Lillian and Janet crowd around her. All three of their wide-eyed stares are locked on Bucky's.

Bucky lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Why?" he asks.

“We thought you went to Steve’s,” Rebecca says. His younger sisters stare at him apprehensively until Janet breaks the silence by giggling.

Once Janet starts, it’s all over. Lillian and Rebecca start giggling; even Bucky cracks a smile. With the sounds of his sisters around him, Bucky walks to the bed and sits on the floor against the frame. Janet curls into his side, right between him and Rebecca’s head, and then Lillian crawls over to them, too. Rebecca smiles, finds her spot on the page, and finishes reading the chapter.

A week later, Bucky reaches his limit. It’s Friday, he hasn’t talked to Steve since Saturday, and he's on Christmas Break—his choices are to walk around aimlessly in the dead of winter or stay at home all day.

His sisters make it easier, at least. The four siblings have been in Rebecca’s room since they woke up, leaving only for bathroom breaks and food. In the morning they finished _The Mystery at Lilac Inn_ , then played Hearts. After Rebecca shot the moon and Bucky threw his cards at her, the girls planned a scheme to get Winifred’s red nail polish from the bathroom without their ma noticing. They succeeded, then celebrated by painting their toenails with it. Janet asked Bucky if he wanted his toes painted, too. He almost said yes—just to humor her, of course—then turned pale when he thought about his father. Upon seeing his face, Rebecca told Janet, “Bucky doesn’t like to paint his nails.” Janet nodded, satisfied, and turned to Lillian, who wiggled her toes in Janet's face. At that, Bucky grabbed the new H.G. Wells from Rebecca's bookshelf, sat on her bed, and pointedly ignored his sisters for the next few hours.

Now the girls are playing _Parcheesi_ , their silent concentration punctuated only by groans and gleeful shrieks. Bucky reads _The Shape of Things to Come_ and glances up every once in a while to give advice to whoever is losing.

It's a good day. Bucky doesn’t spend a lot of time with his sisters, and he’d never admit how much he likes it.

But that day, like every day, the _bang_ of the front door opening sends a chill down Bucky’s spine. When it happens, Rebecca tenses. She looks at Lillian, brows creased, but Lillian averts her eyes and glowers at the board. Rebecca turns to Bucky, but he refuses to meet her eyes too, just lays there and frowns at his book. Rebecca grabs Janet’s hand and closes her eyes, and the youngest Barnes crawls over to give her a hug. The words on Bucky’s pages are blurred.

Next is the calm. The door slams shut and the only sounds for the next few minutes are muffled words between their parents. Rebecca stands up and walks over to the radio, turns it on, and cranks the volume to the max.

It makes the next part better. _“How could you let this happen?”_ George yells. There’s a bang and a stomp, and Winifred whimpers. _“Was I unclear? I told you twice, how stupid can you be—”_

Rebecca turns away from the radio and sits down next to Janet. _“Oh, say, you hear that pitter-pat,”_ says the radio. “My turn,” Rebecca says loudly, then throws the dice onto the board. Janet’s eyes bubble with tears; Lillian scoots next to her and places her head on Janet’s shoulder.

Bucky reads a sentence: “Nothing is so pleasing to perplexed unhappy people as the denunciation of others.” George says, _“If you can’t do this right, imagine what would happen if I expected more from you!”_ The radio says, _“That happy tune is your step.”_ Janet starts to wail and Lillian’s eyes burst open.

Bucky reads the sentence again: “Nothing is so pleasing to perplexed unhappy people as the denunciation of others.” George says, _“You’re lucky, Winnie! Most men wouldn’t tolerate this behavior; they never would have married a woman with your flaws.”_ The radio says, _“Life could be so sweet.”_ Janet’s wailing grows louder; Lillian presses a hand to her mouth as Rebecca rubs small circles on her back.

Bucky reads the sentence a third time: “Nothing is so pleasing to perplexed unhappy people as the denunciation of others.” George says, _“I should have married a gal who knows a thing or two about men! It's no wonder our son acts like a goddamn fairy all the time—”_ The radio says, _“On the sunny side of the street.”_ Rebecca looks fearfully at Bucky.

Bucky stops reading.

On Saturday, just before dinnertime, Sarah Rogers opens her door to find Bucky with two bags of groceries and a smile just shy of believable. “Please,” Bucky says, and Sarah sighs as she opens the door.

“You can’t just spend money when you want something,” Sarah says. Bucky follows her into the kitchen and places the bags on the counter. “People will manipulate your generosity.”

“I don't spend money on other people,” Bucky says. He turns to Steve, who lays on the couch looking dazed, sipping from a glass of effervescent lemonade. It's a fever cure—Bucky remembers the last time Steve was ill, when Sarah had told him what they do—make the lemonade, make sure he drinks it, and rub a moisturizer called Albolene on his lips, all so that he doesn't get dehydrated.

Sarah runs a hand through her hair, stares at the bags, and says, “At least let me teach you how to cook with it.”

They make Sarah's grandmother’s recipe for spiced beef. It’s pretty good, salty and sweet from the spices that Bucky had brought. When they finish eating, Sarah puts the rest of the meal in the ice box. She fusses around the kitchen, slaps Bucky's hand when he tries to do the dishes but lets him wipe them dry. "I have a shift in an hour," Sarah says, checking the time and running a hand through her hair. "I was going to ask the neighbors to watch Steve—"

"I'll look after Steve," Bucky says. "I'll finish cleaning, too." He can tell that she wants to say no, wants to tell him that it isn't his job to take care of them. Instead, she just squeezes his shoulder, mutters her thanks, and goes to put on her uniform.

As she's walking out the door, Sarah says, "Keep your distance, Bucky. I mean it. I won't have you catching the flu." Then she leaves the apartment and the door bangs shut behind her.

Bucky winces at the sound. He glances at Steve, but his friend isn't looking his way. Steve is lying on the couch with a thin blanket spread across his frame and a dreamy look on his face, gazing out the window.

When Bucky approaches, Steve’s eyes glide from the window to him. When he sees that it's Bucky, Steve grins.

“Bucky,” he says. Steve reaches his hand out, but when Bucky goes to take it, Steve flinches away. “Too hot,” he says.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky tilts his head so he doesn't breathe in Steve's direction. It feels wrong, somehow, that his air is not Steve's air, that there has to be distance between them. He wants to tell Steve about his parents and his sisters, that his pop had called him _fairy_ , but he feels nervous at the thought.

After a moment, Bucky reaches his hand out to rest lightly on Steve's wrist. It’s warm, Steve's palms are sweaty, and Bucky worries that the heat will be bad for him. But Steve moves his hand so his palm graces Bucky's and laces their fingers together. Bucky tells himself that the gesture is meant to comfort Steve, but the truth—that Steve is fighting for his life and yet Bucky needs comfort from him—presses into his chest like a wound.

With his other hand, Steve pulls the blanket to his chest. “Too cold,” he says, shivering. He tugs the blanket to his neck and it comes off of his feet, which are covered in thick wool socks. “Oh, no.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky says. He leans over and pulls the blanket over Steve’s feet, careful not to let go of his hand. When he does, the blanket drags down from Steve’s neck to his chest.

Steve lets out a whine. “I'll fix it,” Bucky says. He pulls the blanket back over Steve’s chest and lets go of his hand. Then he sits at the end of the couch, pulls Steve’s feet onto his lap, and wraps his arms around them. Steve smiles and tucks himself into the blanket.

After a moment, Steve's eyes flutter shut, and Bucky tries to focus on his breathing. Steve's mouth is slightly open; ragged, phlegmy breaths pour out as his chest rises and falls. His hands have a loose hold on the blanket and Bucky wants to grab one again, anchor their bodies together so Steve will keep knowing he’s there. Instead, he leans against the couch, squeezes Steve's toes, and lets himself drift off to sleep.

Bucky wakes the next morning with a sore back, a stiff neck, and Steve's legs draped over his lap. He moves them gently, careful not to wake him, then slips out of the Rogerses' apartment.

Around noon, Bucky returns with enough groceries to feed a small country. He smiles widely when Sarah opens the door, but her defeated expression makes the smile fall right off his face. His first thought is of Steve, that he'd taken a turn for the worse, but then Sarah sighs and asks, “Will it matter if I say you shouldn't come in?”

“No,” Bucky says.

Sarah opens the door all the way.

Steve drops his drawing pad onto his chest and waves lazily at Bucky as he enters. His skin is pale and his nose is red, but he looks better than he did when Bucky left.

"You're well enough to draw?" Bucky asks, heart pounding, allowing himself a bit of hope. He puts the grocery bags on the ground, earning a glare from Sarah, and moves over to his friend.

Steve sticks his pencil stub behind his ear and nods.

"That's great, pal," Bucky says, trying to suppress the excitement in his tone. He feels almost giddy. "Maybe your ma and I can cook something you'll eat today."

"Maybe," Steve says. He grabs the pencil from behind his ear and moves his drawing pad out of Bucky's eyeline.

Bucky grins as he walks into the kitchen. “He's better today,” he says to Sarah.

She nods. “He’s almost on the other side.”

“I was worried,” Bucky says. He blushes and turns away, but Sarah just grabs his arm and squeezes.

“So was I.”

She drops her hand and peers into the bag of groceries. She pulls out three apples, a box of raisins, a box of chicken broth, some oatmeal, and a peach before looking at Bucky and raising an eyebrow.

“I didn’t know what to get,” Bucky says.

“You should’ve just bought the store,” Sarah says. She examines the peach. “It would’ve cost less.”

“Didn’t want it to cost less.”

Sarah barks out a laugh. “Your father’s been that bad, huh?”

Bucky shrugs.

“Got it. Well, we’ll put it to good use.” She continues to search through the bag, then sees something that makes her eyes widen.

“You bought a turkey?” Sarah asks. Bucky blushes, runs his hand through the back of his hair. “Well, at least I have a recipe. My husband’s." At this, Sarah presses her lips into a line and turns away from Bucky, grabbing pots and pans out of the cupboard.

They spend the afternoon going over the recipe, sporadically interrupted by visits to Steve on the couch. After a while, Bucky feels comfortable slicing the potatoes while Sarah prepares the meat, then she teaches him how to use the boiler. By the time six p.m. rolls around, Bucky is boiling both the meat and the sides while Sarah sits with Steve in the main room.

Around six-fifteen, Bucky gets an aching feeling in his chest. “Uh, Sarah?" Bucky calls. She looks up. "Is the food supposed to get this dark?” Sarah comes into the kitchen, peers over Bucky’s shoulder, and frowns. Bucky can see her lips pull into a thin line before she lifts her head up so she can look at him.

“No, it’s not supposed to get that dark.”

Bucky's heart drops. “Can I fix it?”

“No, sweetheart, I don't think so. It looks overcooked. I must have—it's my fault. Go sit with Steve and I'll see if I can save it.”

Bucky walks into the main room, feeling like he weighs a thousand pounds.

"Hey," Steve says groggily as Bucky enters, squinting up at him and breaking into a grin. Then he coughs—Bucky moves forward on instinct, but Steve throws his palm out and hits Bucky right in the stomach. Bucky knows he should take a step back, but he lets Steve's hand linger on his shirt, enjoying the warmth that it leaves. He expects Steve to move his hand eventually, but he doesn't, just coughs into his left elbow as his right hand rests on Bucky.

Bucky stares at it. He wonders why Steve hasn't moved it. He glances toward the kitchen—Sarah is preoccupied with the boiler, she isn't looking at them—then slowly moves his hand to his stomach and covers Steve's wrist, holds his breath and Steve's arm until the coughing stops. When it does, Bucky slides his fingers up Steve's wrist until their tips rest on Steve's nails. He thinks Steve will definitely pull away now, but his friend just closes his eyes and flips his hand so their fingers are intertwined.

They don't talk about it. Instead, Bucky whispers, “I’m sorry.” He drops into a kneel so his head is level with Steve's, then sinks to the ground so he’s below him.

“What are you sorry for?” Steve asks. His eyes are still closed, but Bucky doesn't hear a yawn in his voice.

“I’m sorry I ruined the meal.” Bucky thinks about all the wasted food, the wasted money. He can't look at Steve, even with his eyes closed, so he stares at their hands instead.

“Ma can save it,” Steve says. He cracks one eye open and shifts his head so he can look down at Bucky. “Don't be so hard on yourself.”

Before Bucky can respond, he hears Sarah call his name from the kitchen. He jumps up, drops Steve's hand, and turns around, his face reddening.

Sarah glances at her son, then looks at Bucky. “The food isn't salvageable,” she says. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

Bucky stares down at his toes. “Let me get takeout,” he says.

“Bucky—”

“Please.”

Sarah sighs. “You can get takeout if I give you money for it.”

“But—”

“James Buchanan Barnes, I am not letting you buy all our meals today,” Sarah says. She grabs her purse and ruffles through it, pulls out a few dollar bills, then places the money in Bucky's palm and wraps his fingers around it. Bucky shoves the bills in his pocket, frowning.

“Diner?” Bucky asks.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Sarah says.

Bucky had completely forgotten. “Oh,” he says in a small voice. He wonders vaguely if Margot’s would be open, and then the answer dawns on him. “Chajnowski's,” Bucky says. “Jewish deli near my folks. They’ll be open.”

“That'd be swell,” Sarah says. She walks to the couch and places the back of her hand on Steve’s forehead. Steve looks past her to smile at Bucky, and Bucky returns the smile as he leaves.

The bell clangs as Bucky opens the door to Chajnowski's. His fingers are numb and Sarah’s money feels like a boulder in his pocket. When he sees the cashier, he feels a wave of relief wash over him.

“Hi, Ruth,” Bucky says.

Ruth Levin looks up from the book she was reading and smiles. “Bucky,” she says. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Bucky replies, walking over to the counter that divides them. “You celebrate Christmas?”

“I tolerate it.” Ruth nods her head to the far corner of the store, at a small Christmas tree bedecked with twinkling lights.

Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“Good for business,” Ruth says with a shrug. “What’ll it be?”

“Do you guys have soups that help with flu?” Bucky asks. He isn't sure if Steve's allowed to eat yet, but he knows that he'd be happy if he could. “My friend—Steve, the one you met at Margot's—all he's had this week is that effervescent lemonade.”

“And that didn’t cure him?” Ruth asks. Bucky smiles and shrugs. “We usually have matzoh ball soup when we're sick."

“How much is that?" Bucky asks.

Ruth raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you care about prices?” she returns, placing a bookmark in her worn copy of _Orlando_. She places the book on the counter and adds, “Last time you were here, you tried to buy half the store.”

“That was a phase,” Bucky says. He leans forward and adds, “Summer job with the mafia.”

Ruth laughs. “Can you recommend me?” She drops her voice and says, “Mafioso sounds better than this.”

“Better than Margot's?”

“No,” Ruth says, glancing behind her at the door to the kitchen. “Margot’s is blissfully free of my family.”

Bucky forces a smile and nods. When he's been silent for a beat too long, Ruth says, "Matzoh ball soup is fifteen cents a bowl. Another ten cents for a takeout container."

Before Bucky can respond, the door to the kitchen slams open and a voice yells, “Oy! Ruthie!”

Bucky jumps and clutches his chest. His heart is pounding and his head feels suddenly foggy, like he's looking at Ruth behind a screen. He vaguely registers Ruth's voice—"Oy, Papa—you scared me—what do you need?"—as he slowly comes back to himself.

Mr. Levin looks Bucky up and down as if he's appraising a car. Then he turns to Ruth and says something in Yiddish.

Ruth's face turns red. She glances nervously at Bucky and says, “No, he's not,” in English. Both of her hands are on her book—one obscures the title and author, the other fingers the bookmark.

Mr. Levin grunts—in approval, Bucky thinks—and mutters something else in Yiddish. Ruth mutters something back, her nail poking a white hole into the green bookmark. Then Mr. Levin lightly tugs her ear, earns a "Hey!" and a light shove on the arm from his daughter, then chuckles and walks back through the kitchen door.

"I apologize for him," Ruth says when her father's out of earshot. "He still thinks I'm five."

"Impressive resume for five," Bucky says. "I didn't get my second job till six."

Ruth smiles thinly in lieu of a response. Bucky feels his heartbeat pick up, then says, "Was your pop asking for my order?"

"Yes," Ruth says, avoiding his eye. She presses the pad of her finger to the corner of the bookmark.

Bucky thinks that she's probably lying, but he doesn't press. After a moment, Ruth pulls her finger away from the bookmark and crosses her hands on the counter.

When the soup is ready, Ruth places the containers in a bag and Bucky hands over seventy-five cents. He thanks her for the food and turns to leave.

Before he's taken a step, Ruth blurts out, "He said that you looked like a fairy."

Bucky stops. He feels a tremor in his hands, slides the handle of the bag onto his wrist. Then he turns to look at Ruth—her eyes wide, her lip trembling—and feels the full weight of the comment.

"I'm not," Bucky says. He hopes his voice sounds strong.

Ruth looks terrified. She grips _Orlando_ with white knuckles, the corner of the bookmark pressed sharply into her thumb. A drop of blood leaks out, staining the green bookmark red. Bucky wants to ask if she's okay, but his voice isn't his anymore. Before Ruth finds hers, Bucky leaves.

When he returns to the Rogerses’, Steve is asleep. Sarah beckons him into the kitchen, arranges the takeout in bowls, and asks Bucky to set the table. He’s distracted—he grabs plates and has to double back, then entirely forgets about spoons. Sarah watches him carefully, and when they sit down, she asks, “Bucky, what’s wrong?”

Bucky's eyes widen. "Nothing," he says.

Sarah places her spoon in her bowl and clasps her hands together. "Bucky," she says. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!"

"I'll ask one more time, and if you don't want to talk, then I'll drop it. Bucky—what's wrong?"

It spills out before he can stop it. "People keep calling me fairy."

Sarah's eyebrows shoot up, then she arranges them in a neat line. "Was one of these people your father?"

Bucky's brain turns to a channel that it's used to, that recites his father on a loop— _It's no wonder our son acts like a goddamn fairy—It's no wonder our son acts like a goddamn fairy—It's no wonder our son acts like a goddamn fairy—_

Bucky closes his eyes. "No," he says quietly.

Bucky feels a light hand on his shoulder and opens his eyes. Sarah's expression is hard to decipher, but Bucky assumes that it's pity. "It's all right," Sarah says. She squeezes his shoulder. "They don't know you like we do."

It makes Bucky feel like a liar. "Can I talk to Steve?"

Sarah pauses, withdrawing her arm. "Don't wake him up," she says, "but you can wait for him." Bucky hears the scraping of cutlery and bowls as he drags his chair over to the couch. He sits there while Sarah cleans and Steve sleeps, feeling his guilt in his throat. Eventually, the noises from the kitchen are replaced by noises from the bathroom, then Sarah's bedroom door closes and Bucky is left alone with Steve.

When he looks at his friend, Bucky thinks—about his unguarded grin, his earnest eyes, the strength of his hands. Bucky wonders what it means that he thinks about this, but he rationalizes—Steve is his best friend, his family, the person he loves most in the world. Of course Bucky notices the green specks in his eyes and the yellow rings around his pupils and the length of his eyelashes; he spends all day looking at them.

Bucky knows that his sisters' eyes are brown and that his ma has long eyelashes, too. _It's exactly the same_ , he thinks. But his eyes flicker onto Steve's hands and he's disappointed that the blanket is covering his waist and he wonders, briefly, if he ever thinks of anyone this way, anyone other than Steve.

When Steve’s eyes finally crawl open, Bucky is holding his hand.

“Bucky?” Steve asks, yawning.

“I’m here.”

“Why are you—where’s Ma?” Steve looks groggy, confused. Then he looks down at his hand, sees it entwined with Bucky’s, and breaks into a smile.

Bucky pulls his hand away. "She's asleep. How are you feeling?"

"Better," Steve says, frowning at his empty hand. "I feel like my mind is back."

"That's great, pal," Bucky says. "I was starting to miss it."

"You missed my mind?"

"Yes." George's voice isn't as loud in Bucky's head anymore—it throbs dully in the background, blending in with the shouts from the sidewalk and the Christmas music playing on the radio. Steve blushes, pulls the blanket up to his neck, lets his wool-covered feet peek out. Then he looks Bucky in the eye and extends his hand, and Bucky automatically takes it.

It's a moment that Bucky wants to capture and return to. His thumb is wrapped around Steve's, Steve's nails brush the skin just below it. It feels like cooking with Sarah, like playing Parcheesi with his sisters, like his ma pressing ice to his cheek. But it's more—it's the crack of a baseball connecting to his bat, it's the whole class laughing at his joke, it's the knowledge that his father won't be home. Bucky tries to place Steve among these feelings, but he can't—Steve is nothing like Parcheesi with his sisters, Steve is nothing that he's ever felt at school.

Soon, they get to talking; hushed voices and muffled laughter, trying not to wake Sarah up. Steve talks about last week's art class, how the instructor had told him he was one of the best. They laugh about Bucky's gourd, about the fella next to Steve who stuck out his tongue when he drew. Then Steve talks about the artists he loves, and Bucky has nothing to say. Still, he tries to remember the names that Steve shares—Duchamp and Dalí, Kahlo and O’Keeffe—their names blend together like Bucky is a watercolor and Steve is the well-worn brush. He paints Bucky with all of his sounds, drops a word that spreads through Bucky's chest, saturates his black-and-white borders with vivid reds.

Bucky doesn't let go of Steve's hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS: minor illness, major internalized homophobia, verbal abuse, homophobic slurs, physical symptoms of anxiety
> 
> YIDDISH WORDS (in order of appearance):  
>  _Gonif_ —an untrustworthy person or thief. Bucky's definition is half right.  
>  _Challah_ —a Jewish knotted bread. Objectively the best type of bread to make French toast with. A bit sweet.  
>  _Goy_ —somewhat derogatory/slang term for non-Jew. “Goy bread” is just a jokey way of saying “not Jewish bread; not as good as challah”
> 
> HISTORICAL REFERENCES:  
> —The Robert Fulton school is PS 8 in Northwest Brooklyn, about 10-15 minutes away from where I’ve placed Steve and Sarah’s apartment in DUMBO (on Front St between Jay & Bridge). I found the Robert Fulton school on [the SRNY blog.](https://tinyurl.com/yxteyvsy)  
> —as an addendum, I placed the Barnes' apartment near Crown St & Franklin Ave in Crown Heights, close to the Brooklyn Botanical Garden in Prospect Park.  
> —the Montague Arch + Penny Bridge in Brooklyn Heights were where the Brooklyn Heights Promenade is today. It was torn down to make the BQE in the mid-40s.  
> —The song on Rebecca Barnes’ radio is “On the Sunny Side of the Street,” written by Jimmy McHugh and Dorothy Fields. [The version I used](https://youtu.be/qayWiYV-dUc) was recorded by Ted Lewis in 1930.  
> —I found the effervescent lemonade & Albolene (fever cures) in a nurse's newspaper article from [the SRNY blog.](https://tinyurl.com/y25jbolm)  
> —the three books mentioned are _The Mystery at Lilac Inn_ by Carolyn Keene (1930), _The Shape of Things to Come_ by H.G. Wells (1933), and _Orlando_ by Virginia Woolf (1928). _The Mystery at Lilac Inn_ is a random Nancy Drew novel I chose because the title sounded cool; I have no idea if it's the best one. The Wells book is sci-fi, released a few months before this chapter takes place. I found the quote I used on Goodreads. _Orlando_ is a super queer fictionalized biography of a man who transforms into a woman and has both male and female lovers. Virginia Woolf was queer, & this book was something of a love letter to Vita Sackville-West, another writer.  
> —if anything is historically inaccurate we are going to pretend that it's accurate within the MCU <3
> 
> Last and most importantly: how the word "fairy" was used as a slur in the 1930s.  
> In short, "fairy" was a slang term for "homosexual," originating in the late 1800s but popularized around the 1920s. It was an extremely popular slur—some say the most popular slur of the 20s—and referred to perversion or sexual deviancy with an emphasis on homosexuality, specifically targeting gay and effeminate men. I learned about this in Anthony Slide's _Gay's the Word_ , which you can find parts of on [Google Books.](https://tinyurl.com/y5w6qpwa)


	6. Only We Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky go to the George Washington High School's annual Homecoming Dance.
> 
> Steve POV  
> September - October 1934  
> Bucky is 17 (senior in high school), Steve is 16 (junior in high school)
> 
> Title is from "Somewhere Only We Know" by Keane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> High Schools didn't all have Homecoming Dances in the 30s, but I thought that Homecoming fit with Steve & Bucky's dynamic more than Prom did—they're an autumn couple, full of new beginnings; changing colors, preparing for a storm. Coming home (to each other) is kind of their thing. (Also, ‘Homecoming’ is one of the Winter Soldier's trigger words, which I realized a few weeks into writing this chapter.) So this version of the MCU had Homecoming at high schools in the 1930s, even though our world’s 1930s mostly had Homecoming at universities.
> 
> Another note -- posting is becoming less frequent, just as I get busier & focus on other things. It'll probably be a few months between updates, but they're coming :)
> 
> No Content Warnings for this chapter. Historical & other references in the end notes.

When Steve has a crush on a girl, he falls in love with every part of her. He sees what he wants to see, fills the missing parts with his favorite colored pencils, feels betrayed when the colors don't match.

But loving from a distance means that the interesting parts aren't visible. Steve can only love the parts that he can see, and he can never see too much. It's lonely, but it's safe—if Steve doesn't know the people he's in love with, then they can't know him either.

It takes time, but Steve will one day understand: You can't fall in love from a distance. The parts you fall in love with are learned.

Today, Steve is drawing Lynn Davis. She's the only other person who sits in the back of the classroom with him, always twisting in her seat and frowning at her desk. Every once in a while Steve will catch her staring at her paper in a way that he can recognize: An artist's concentration, contorting her features into the expressions she's trying to draw.

When the bell rings, Lynn shoves her supplies in her bag and gathers around Mary Smithfield's desk. This always happens before lunch—a group of girls gossip around Mary's desk, flocking to her like lost pigeons. Steve doesn't want to eavesdrop, really—he knows it's the wrong thing to do—but he packs up his belongings slowly.

"Are you still going to that art show on Saturday?" Mary asks Lynn. She says _art show_ like one might say _prison_. 

Steve's eyebrows shoot up and he hears his heart beat in his chest. _Lynn Davis is going to an art show?_

Lynn blushes and shrugs, refusing to meet Mary's eye. "It's in a beautiful area," she responds carefully.

Mary laughs and the rest of the girls laugh with her. "Greenwich Village is not _beautiful_ ," Mary says. Then she rests her cheek in her hand and adds, "The girls and I are going shopping for Homecoming dresses. Come with us instead." Mary drops her hand and raises an eyebrow. "You do have a date, don't you?"

Lynn shrugs, avoiding Mary's eye.

Steve feels for her. It's the same shrug he'd given Bucky when his best friend had asked about the dance. Feeling guilty now about eavesdropping, Steve slips out of the classroom, unacknowledged by any of the girls.

On his way to lunch, Steve decides that he has to go to that art show, has to see if Lynn will really be there. He leans into the fantasies that pop in his head—he and Lynn holding hands at the art show, him asking her to Homecoming, her jumping in his arms and saying _yes!_

He doesn't think it'll happen. Still, he has a choice: Continue to avoid Lynn Davis and ensure that they'll never go out, or muster up the courage to ask.

This is why, on Saturday, Steve sits in Washington Square Park with his Dodgers cap falling in his eyes, scanning the crowd for Lynn. To his right, Bucky relaxes into the bench and runs a hand through the waves of his hair. When he sees Steve looking his way, Bucky grins, then elbows Steve lightly on the arm.

"I thought of another reason why you should go to Homecoming," Bucky says.

"I'll buy you a painting if you drop it."

"Save your money." Bucky wiggles his eyebrows and adds, "For your _date_."

Steve puts his hand on Bucky's shoulder and pushes. Bucky startles and laughs, then reaches for Steve to push back.

A leaf falls onto Steve's jacket and Bucky picks it off. "Fairfax doesn't have Homecoming," he says, referring to the private school that he and his siblings attend. "I've always wanted to go to one."

"Take my place, then," Steve replies. "Be Steve Rogers for a day."

Bucky laughs. “I want to dance with my girl, not fight with a fella for looking at her funny.” He twirls the leaf around his fingers, then drops it. They both watch it float to the ground. “Would you go if I could go too?”

Steve thinks about seeing Bucky over his date’s shoulder as they dance, Bucky’s reassuring smile that Steve is doing it right. He thinks about how, if his date ditches him or if he gets sick, Bucky would be there.

“Yes,” he tells Bucky. “I would go if you could go too.”

Bucky nods. “Let’s walk past that portrait again.”

“Neel’s?” Steve asks.

“No, it was a dame’s.”

Steve stifles a grin. 

When they find Alice Neel, the painter recognizes them. Cigarette hanging loosely from her mouth, she raises an eyebrow and watches them approach.

Steve nods to her, trying to look serious, while Bucky's wide-eyed gaze is captivated by a portrait of a nude woman. "It's..." Bucky says, glancing between Steve and Alice Neel, "it's..."

"Honest," a girl's voice says behind them.

Steve turns and stands up straighter. Lynn Davis smiles at the two of them, then continues: “You can't see it unless you look for a while," Lynn says, gesturing to the painted woman's face. "The subject's anxiety grows the longer you stare at her. It's how sex really is—intimate, messy. You learn about your partner during sex, just as you learn about the subject by looking.” Lynn gestures to the painting. “The feelings evoked are the same.”

Steve stares at her, wide-eyed, and thinks: _She talks about sex as if she's had it._

Before Steve can respond, Bucky steps closer to Lynn. At first she looks suspicious, but then Bucky smiles, and as if by instinct, Lynn breaks into a smile as well. Steve can hardly blame her—Bucky's smile is enough to make you trust him.

“Bucky Barnes,” Bucky says, gesturing his hand as if to tip an imaginary hat. “It’s a pleasure to meet a young woman as dedicated to the arts as I am.”

Steve snorts.

"Lynn Davis," she says, then turns to Steve. “We go to school together.”

In that moment, Steve knows what he wants to say: _Let me take you to Homecoming. Let me draw you. Let me be yours._ Instead, he just nods. Then he looks up at Bucky like his best friend will tell him what to do.

But Bucky isn’t looking at Steve. He’s looking at Lynn.

“I hear you have a dance coming up,” Bucky says.

As Steve walks home without Bucky for the first time in what feels like forever, he decides that what he needs, more than anything, is to drown his emotions in bread. He heads to Margot's.

The wind biting his cheeks, Steve thinks about what his ma told him about girls: to treat them the way he treats his friends. The problem is, Steve’s only friend in the world is Bucky. The thought of treating anyone else the way he treats Bucky makes his chest tighten uncomfortably. The truth is, Steve doesn’t have friends, he has family—his ma and his Bucky—but nobody loves him by choice. Steve wants to be loved for who he is now, not as a souvenir from childhood.

If Steve were older, he might recognize the flaw in these thoughts: Steve loves who Bucky is now. There’s no evidence that Bucky feels differently.

But Steve isn’t preoccupied by Bucky. He wants to find a date to Homecoming. And as he walks into Margot’s, the answer appears behind the counter.

“Hi, Steve,” Ruth Levin says.

On Homecoming night, Steve and Ruth arrive on the early side. The dance was supposed to start at six—all of the teachers had said so—so why the school is empty at 5:57 PM is a mystery to Steve.

When Ruth sees the near-empty school, she gives Steve a half-hearted smile. They find a seat near the back of the gym, away from the chaperones, and wait for other people to arrive. After a minute of sitting in silence, Ruth pulls out a book and Steve places his chin in his hands.

Fifteen minutes later, Steve is doodling on the edge of a napkin, his swirls matching the beat of _Ain't Misbehavin'_ , when he feels strong hands grip his shoulders. _Bucky_.

Steve turns around and has to physically stop his jaw from dropping. Bucky is wearing a _suit_ —an honest-to-God tailored _suit_ —with a blue tie and shiny black shoes. His hair is slicked back and his grin is a mile wide. It takes a moment for Steve to register that Lynn is also there, in a long, navy-blue dress.

"Hi, pal," Bucky says, squeezing Steve's shoulder. Steve immediately stands up and straightens his jacket.

"Hi, Buck," Steve says. Then he nods to Lynn and says, "It's nice to see you."

Lynn smiles. "It's nice to see you too." Then she looks at Bucky, and Steve looks at Bucky, and Bucky looks caught between worlds.

 _Ain't Misbehavin'_ fades to a close and a slow song takes its place. It’s a song that Steve recognizes, one that always makes his ma cry.

 _How can I tell you_  
_What is in my heart?  
_ _And how can I measure  
_ _Each and every part?_

"Let's dance," Bucky says to Lynn. Lynn smiles, puts her hand in Bucky's and lets him lead her onto the dance floor.

 _How many times a day  
_ _Do I think of you?  
_ _How many roses  
_ _Are sprinkled with dew?_

Steve and Ruth are the only ones not dancing. Ruth’s nose is in her book, while Steve watches Bucky and Lynn on the dance floor.

They dance together sweetly, swaying like dandelions in the wind. Bucky's hand rests on Lynn's hip, the other holding hers. Lynn whispers something in Bucky's ear and he laughs, and her dress scrunches around Bucky’s grip on her waist. 

As if a veil has been lifted, Steve begins to see Lynn's flaws. He sees the loose threads on her dress, the veins crawling up her calves. She rarely makes eye contact with Bucky, while all of Bucky’s attention is on her. Her teeth are crooked. Her eyes are beady. Wisps of hair detach from her bob and fall into her mouth, sticking to clumps of her lipstick.

It doesn't make her any less beautiful. It doesn't make her and Bucky break apart.

_How far would I travel_  
_To be where you are?_  
_How far is the journey_  
_From here to a star?_

The sight of them makes Steve want to punch something. It’s the need to externalize his anger, to remove it from his body and pass it onto somebody else. It never works; the anger never dissipates. Fighting just exhausts him enough that he stops considering his anger, at least until he regains his strength. His anger always tags along with it, then he needs to pass it on again.

Most of the time when Steve feels this way, it’s because someone has done something wrong. But this isn’t that. Steve thinks he's annoyed with Bucky for having the stones to ask Lynn out before he did, but when Steve tries to summon that anger, it falls flat. He's confused—if he's angry, and he's jealous, then why isn't he more annoyed with Bucky? Why is he angry at _Lynn_?

_And if I ever lost you_  
_How much would I cry?_  
_How deep is the ocean?_  
_How high is the sky?_

Bucky leans into Lynn’s ear and whispers something that makes her giggle.

Steve focuses on Bucky's hands. Steve knows what they feel like, how it feels to be that close to him. Other than Bucky and his ma, Steve hasn’t been physically close to anyone. But Bucky—Bucky goes on _dates_. He kisses girls, he touches them. Steve knows this. It’s never bothered him before.

It dawns on Steve that his thoughts are not preoccupied by Lynn, though his anger is directed at her. He thinks about her hand on Bucky’s shoulder and feels nothing. He thinks about Bucky’s hand on her waist and feels enraged.

It follows, then, that Steve isn't angry that Lynn came to Homecoming with Bucky.

He’s angry that Bucky came with her.

When Steve thinks about his friendship with Bucky, his mind supplies two facts: That he knows Bucky better than anyone, and that he doesn't have anyone else. It's more than a friendship, it's a lifeline—Bucky pulls Steve away from his darkness, makes sure it's replaced with his light. Even on their worst days, Bucky loves Steve so openly that Steve knows he deserves to be loved.

He can't ruin that. No matter where this feeling came from, he can't let Bucky know about it.

The gym begins to empty as the dance winds to a close. Bucky and Lynn, all smiles, walk up to the table where Steve and Ruth are sitting. Steve tries to smile too.

Bucky gives him a funny look but doesn't say anything. Steve knows that he's already failed to conceal his upset, but he also knows that Bucky would never bring it up in front of other people. Instead, Bucky greets Ruth, who puts her book back in her purse and recommends they go out for a smoke.

Outside, Steve tries to control his shivering as Bucky pulls out his cigarettes. He hands one to Ruth, then to Lynn, then raises an eyebrow at Steve.

Steve shakes his head. Bucky knows that he can only smoke asthma cigarettes. The regular ones make him cough.

Ruth pulls a lighter out of her purse, lights her cigarette, and offers the lighter to Lynn. Lynn smiles and takes it. Soon, the air is coated with the smell. 

Bucky loosens his tie and grins at Lynn, who grins back. Ruth tilts her head up to look at the sky, smoke wafting up to meet her.

Lynn finishes her cigarette first. As soon as she puts it out, she starts to shiver. 

Steve wants to shiver too, has been holding it in all night. Instead, he just watches as Bucky pulls his coat off and throws it around Lynn's shoulders.

Without the jacket, Bucky's tie hangs loose over a white button-down shirt. He laughs at something Ruth says and runs his fingers through his waves, messy where they've combed out the grease. A cigarette rests in his hand and he looks so beautiful, in a way Steve's never noticed before.

Finally, Steve can't hold back anymore. He shivers.

Bucky's eyes latch onto his immediately. Steve shakes off the cold, darts his eyes between Ruth and Lynn. They're talking to each other, not looking at Bucky or Steve.

_Small blessings_ , Steve thinks as Bucky's eyes narrow. Steve recognizes the look as determined, the way Bucky gets before a fight. Bucky looks at Steve's hands, where the veins are beginning to show, then to Steve's chattering teeth, and then to his jacket on Lynn.

"Bucky, don't—" Steve tries to say, but Bucky is already talking.

"Are you warm now?" Bucky asks, throwing a deceptive arm around Lynn's shoulder.

Lynn giggles, and Ruth rolls her eyes. "Sure, Bucky. Nice and warm."

"You wouldn't mind if I took the jacket back, then?" Bucky flashes a smile. Ruth raises an eyebrow, takes another drag of her cigarette. Behind them, Steve stares as if he's witnessing an automobile collision.

"Um—" Lynn frowns at Bucky, then glances at Steve, whose teeth are now chattering loudly. Her eyebrows shoot up and she says, "Of course, Bucky. Thank you for lending it to me."

Steve wants to disappear. It's a familiar feeling, but rare around Bucky. He vividly recalls his fourteenth birthday, their trip to Coney Island. He remembers his annual winter flus, violent and suffering, praying to God that he could only fall asleep until it ended, or until he saw his father again. Bucky had been there every time. Bucky is here again now.

But so are two girls. It's Lynn's pitying face in the forefront of Steve's mind as he mutters some excuse about leaving his watch in the gym and then walking back towards the school. He sees Lynn's pitying face as his teeth slam into each other, as his body tenses around his lower back, as his heart pounds loudly, irregularly. He thinks about Ruth and her book, Bucky and his smiles, pictures how he must look to them. Then he slams open the doors to the school and walks inside.

His body exhales in relief. The warmth straightens his back, unclenches his jaw. His heartbeat slows. He feels alive again.

Then he feels a chill as the school doors open once more.

Steve turns and sees Bucky, his worry all over his face. "I didn't know how cold you were," Bucky says. "I'm sorry I didn't notice earlier."

"It's not your fault, Buck," Steve says. He talks to Bucky's chest. The blue of his tie is ocean warm, nothing like the navy of Lynn's dress. "I could've said something."

"Damn right you could've," Bucky says, moving closer. "But I know why you didn't."

Steve sighs and moves his eyes to meet Bucky's. Bucky is standing right in front of him. Steve almost reaches out.

Instead, Bucky holds out his jacket.

Steve stares. He imagines pulling it on; he'd be dwarfed by it. The thought makes him feel sad, then safe. "I don't need it," he says.

"I know," Bucky says. "Take it anyway."

Slowly, Steve reaches for the jacket. His fingers brush against a button, so he runs his finger down its side. Then he looks up at Bucky. He half expects, half hopes, that Bucky will put the jacket on him. He knows Bucky won't.

Steve takes the jacket. Bucky's breath hitches, barely enough for Steve to notice.

Steve slides his arms into the sleeves. He buttons the buttons. He refuses to look at his friend.

They go back outside. Steve is still cold, but he doesn't shiver anymore. When they find Ruth and Lynn, the girls are engrossed in conversation. When Ruth sees them approach, she calls out, "Bucky, can we have another cigarette?" and Lynn starts to laugh.

Steve looks at Bucky, who shrugs. "Sure thing," Bucky says, and he hands each of them another cigarette. He doesn't take one for himself.

When the cigarettes are halfway done, Lynn yawns. "I should go home," she says, looking at Bucky. 

Bucky looks at Steve. Steve returns the gaze, silently pleading for Bucky to stay. Ruth glances at them both and says, "Lynn, I'll walk you."

Lynn grins and nods, then hooks her arm around Ruth's.

As the girls walk away, Steve sticks his hands in the pockets of Bucky's jacket, enjoying the unfamiliar feel. Bucky smiles at him, small and warm, the kind Steve only sees when nobody else is around. He feels a tug in his chest and he thinks that it might be guilt.

"Bucky," Steve says, squeezing the insides of his pockets.

"What is it?" Bucky hooks his fingers in his belt loops, scratching his nails against black leather.

Steve takes a deep breath. "I'm sweet on Lynn," he says. "At least, I was."

Bucky frowns, tensing his shoulders. Before he can open his mouth, Steve adds, "I thought I knew so much about her." 

Bucky's posture softens. It seems silly to Steve now, that he'd fallen for the details of a girl. As he looks at Bucky, he remembers what he'd learned the day they'd met: That Bucky stepped in to fight bullies, that he wandered the city alone. That he was the type to take a stranger to the restaurant where his mother worked, that he was loved by everyone there. That he bent the rules to fit Steve's needs, but never his own.

All this, Steve knew that first day. And everything he'd learned of Bucky since, from the wall that he hid in his closet to the love that he has for Steve's ma, only made Steve love him more. If there are parts of a person that make you stop wanting to know them, then Steve hasn't found Bucky's yet.

As they stand in the dark and the cold, Bucky wraps an arm around Steve's shoulder. Steve leans into the touch, thankful for the silence of the night, and knows, deep in his chest where his heart lives, that he will never love anybody else this much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SCHOOL STUFF / MCU REFERENCES:  
> —the George Washington High School is Steve’s high school by prop canon. There’s a George Washington High School in Manhattan, but Steve’s is in Brooklyn, so I've placed it near his apartment in DUMBO (Northwest Brooklyn).  
> —Bucky’s high school is the Fairfax School, a private school in Crown Heights, Brooklyn between Rogers Ave [ ;) ] and Bedford Ave. I made it up. Sally Fairfax was a friend of George Washington's whom he loved romantically, and, based on their letters, more deeply than he loved his wife. I thought the parallel was both painful and sweet :)
> 
> HISTORICAL REFERENCES:  
> —the Washington Square Park Outdoor Art Exhibit was founded by Jackson Pollock in 1931. Founded might be the wrong word—Pollock was desperate and broke, set up his art on the sidewalk next to Washington Square Park hoping for buyers. Then some of his friends joined, and by 1934 it had become an event for local artists, including Alice Neel, to sell their work.  
> —the songs that played at Homecoming were [_Ain't Misbehavin'_ by Louis Armstrong (1929)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ljuo5fkW-fs) and [_How Deep Is The Ocean?_ by Irving Berlin (1932).](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fuGwCRYPNtA)  
> —this isn’t mentioned at all, but the book Ruth is reading is _The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas_ by Gertrude Stein (1933). Because subtlety is not allowed in my queer fic <3


End file.
